


hold this thread

by disgruntledkittenface



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: (a little bit of) face fucking, AU where Nick doesn’t have earrings, Aftercare, Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Brief comeplay, Charles Jeffrey, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Kink Exploration, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, London Fashion Week, M/M, Model Harry, Nipple Clamps, Pain Kink, a truly excessive amount of blushing, canon compliant in that Nick is Nick but, gucci, meet cute, or overtones they’re figuring it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-07-17 16:52:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16099811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgruntledkittenface/pseuds/disgruntledkittenface
Summary: The air is heavy between them as they both watch Nick’s clumsy fingers mend the fabric. It must only take a minute, but it feels like ages. Beads of sweat form on Nick’s forehead and he can’t tell if it’s from the panic of the moment or the way the man seems to be waiting for something.He’s done a bad job of it, but finally the hem is stitched up. Nick loops the end of the thread and can’t stop himself from lightly poking the man’s skin again, next to the dark ink smudged on his hip that Nick is currently dying to ogle in full, just to… see.The man shudders this time and luckily Nick is still looking down or he would have missed the man’s cock very clearly twitch in his bloody loose trousers.Fucking hell.On his way to visit Henry getting ready for his London Fashion Week show, Nick bumps into a (stupidly pretty) model and pulls a loose thread on the sample he’s wearing. Horrified, Nick tries to mend the simple mistake, but it may just unravel into the best thing that ever could have happened to him.





	hold this thread

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silvered_glass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvered_glass/gifts).



> I hope you like this, silvered_glass! In case it’s not glaringly obvious after reading, I had the MOST FUN with your prompt and the extras, thank you so much for the inspo!! I set this around London Fashion Week in September 2018, but I was already at the beta stage when Henry’s show happened (Nick’s handbag, omg) and then Harry’s new Gucci campaign dropped and I was LIVING, so I don’t know, maybe there’s a sequel down the road somewhere. And finally, I did research and drew inspiration from previous season fashion shows (what is Gucci’s deal anyway?), but as always I took some liberties. Many thanks to my betas for the help and handholding, ily, and all remaining mistakes are entirely my own.

Tilting his phone at a practiced angle, Nick holds his thumb down at the bottom of the screen to capture the passing scenery for his Instagram Story. He keeps his eyes down, as opposed to looking up at his subject, watching the buildings blur on the screen and noting in satisfaction that he’s timed it just right to get the chorus of the track playing off his phone. 

There’s a sudden huff from the Uber driver up front and Nick wonders if the recording picked it up. He’d rather have the story than a perfect Story, so he tries to hold the phone steady as he drops his shoulders and rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. He’s tempted to laugh as well, but they have a few minutes stuck together yet so he merely bites his lip. When he’d gotten in the car, he’d asked, dead polite and everything, if he could listen to his own playlist and the driver had cheerfully agreed – only to shake his head or grumble at every track. Philistine. 

Once the colored line has made it all the way around the circle under his thumb, Nick swiftly selects a font and taps out the time, pausing for a second as he remembers how just a month ago he used to do this a good six hours earlier, before adding the video to his Story.  _ Six hours. _ Mad, really. His body still wakes him up in a panic just gone 5:00 some mornings, but for the most part he’s taking to normal waking hours quite well. 

A call comes through just as the driver pulls to a stop. He and Nick nod to each other as Nick climbs out the back seat, swiping through apps, pausing his playlist and accepting the call before he trills, “Mo-orning, darling, how are you?”

“Alright, Grim,” Aimee laughs down the line. “How about you?”

“Me, I’m fabulous,” he replies airily, winding his way through the tourists and busy professionals battling for space on the pavement. “Had a nice lie in, sun is shining. Speaking of, how is my beautiful goddaughter?”

He makes his way inside the building and checks the directory to sort where he’s going as Aimee natters on about Sunday’s recent eating habits and nappies or something; it’s all a bit TMI if you ask him, but no one’s asking him.

“As much as I hate to interrupt this scintillating discussion, Aims,” Nick interrupts gleefully, “I have to be off; I’m at Somerset House, almost to Henry’s studio. I’ve convinced him to take a break for lunch.”

“Ugh, thank god,” Aimee groans. “I’ll be so glad when the show is over, he’s been driving me crazy.”

“I think it gets worse every season,” Nick remarks, heading up the stairs. “And Dave keeps updating me on how much he’s sleeping and eating; ’s like he’s you and Henry’s Sunday.”

“Where are you going anyway?” she asks hopefully, most likely in need of a break from her own nappies talk. “Can I meet you?”

“No, no time, probably,” Nick replies as he turns a corner. “We’re just going downstairs to that cafe, he couldn’t be persuaded to leave the premises.”

“Alright, well, have fun,” Aimee says begrudgingly. Nick can practically hear the pout. 

“Alright, I’ll call you later then,” Nick promises. “Come ’round for tea later or something. Bye, bye, bye, bye.” 

Nick ends the call to see a succession of increasingly dramatic texts from Henry pop up.

_ You’re late.  _

_ I only have 15 minutes for this forced lunch break, where the bloody hell are you??  _

_ I don’t have time for this, my career is on the line, Nicholas  _

_ Don’t even bother coming! if you’re going to be this late!!! _

Nick laughs aloud at the row of skull emojis the series of hysterics ends with and he considers replying to let Henry know that he’s literally a minute away but instead he swipes through his apps and points his phone down, framing his long legs with a bit of the floor in front of him. Pressing his thumb to start recording, Nick walks carefully down the middle of the hallway lined with tables littered with scraps of material and random scissors. Because that seems safe.

Halfway through Instagram’s allotted video time, someone backing out of a doorway bumps directly into him. And even though Nick is barely jostled, though his thumb did lift off the phone screen, it still seems as if it’s happening in slow motion. A blur of pale pink falls at the corner of his eye and Nick instinctively reaches out with his free hand to steady it. 

Finally managing to look up, Nick sees that the it turns out to be the elbow of a him. 

A beautiful him, no doubt a model here for a fitting, all tall and lean and  _ pretty, _ with pale skin and thin but lush pink lips, his head topped with slightly unruly brown curls; he’s so close to ethereal that Nick can’t even mock himself as he mentally compares the him and his gold-flecked green orbs to a woodland sprite.

The sprite struggles to right himself; his expression shifting from sheepish at first glance, to coy as Nick drinks him in, to worried the longer Nick remains silent, grasping him by the elbow.

What the fuck is he on about? Honestly,  _ woodland sprite? _ No one must hear of this ever. Nick will have to add a reminder on his phone not to tell Aimee. Or the nation, he has a show later. It’s just a man. Boy? (Dear Christ, Nick is ancient.) In a sparkly pink shirt. Falling all over him, albeit accidentally. How has he been struck completely dumb by this chain of events? Nick clears his throat, preparing to dazzle the spritely stranger with the superior flirting skills he’s honed over the years.

“Alright?”

Fuck. He opens his mouth to try again when a sudden, muffled, “Oof!” from somewhere below interrupts him. He can’t quite tear his eyes away from the boy’s face to locate the source of it.

“’S your phone,” says the boy – no,  _ man, _ going by that deep voice. Nick sighs in relief, there is a god after all, before putting the man’s words together. He looks down at the phone in his hand playing the video he’d recorded on a loop as the man continues, “Were you taking a video or summat?”

And here’s the thing, Nick has a good voice. He knows this. It’s his livelihood. Whatever tonal quality that makes people want to listen as he prattles on about nothing, he’s always had it. But  _ that _ voice, the slow honeyed whiskey flowing out of the beautiful man in front of him. Now,  _ that _ is a voice that Nick could listen to forever and not get tired of. Fuck, what did he say again? His phone?

“Oh!” Nick exclaims after a beat too long. “Right, here, let me just…”

Suddenly realizing he still has a steady hand on the man’s sparkly elbow, Nick pulls it back and hastily adds the recording to his Story before looking back up at the stranger. Nick’s not quite sure how he can be expected to think on his feet with those green eyes fixed on him. 

“Hullo.” 

The voice is accompanied by a crooked grin, which makes Nick all… fluttery somehow, and then a raised eyebrow when Nick doesn’t immediately reply.

Right. Conversation. His supposed field of expertise. Nick racks his brain, desperate to get some semblance of control of this situation back. Wait, yes, okay. He’s got it.

“You know, you interrupted my Instagram Story just then,” Nick remarks, a touch too casually to sound natural. He plows ahead, “D’you feel like making it up to me?”

The man barks a surprised, sudden laugh. Oh,  _ no. _ This is  _ hideous. _ Not the laugh itself, Nick loves the awkward, honking sound. And therein lies the problem: It is entirely too soon for Nick to be this endeared. By a sparkly, slender, curly haired stranger with unfairly symmetrical features who seems more and more like an actual sprite now that Nick thinks of it. Although one with a distinctly low drawl.

“And how do you suggest I do that, hm?” the man asks innocently as a cocky grin slowly takes over his stupidly pretty face. 

“Here, let’s memorialize it with a photo,” Nick says quickly, ignoring the innuendo – he’s supposed to be the one making the innuendos here – and turning to angle himself next to the man. Holding up his phone, he switches it to selfie mode and automatically checks his quiff in the screen (a bit tall, kept its shape from when he’d done it earlier) but then his eyes flicker over to the man next to him, who’s looking at him. Not on the screen, he’s turned his head and is looking at Nick fondly. Who  _ is _ he?

Ever graceful under sexually tense fire, Nick elbows him and says, “Come on, then, smile for the camera.”

And finally the man turns to pose, leaning in and opening his mouth wide rather than properly smiling, but Nick will take it because he looks overjoyed to be strong armed into a selfie with an elderly stranger in a random hallway.

Nick looks at the him mirrored on screen mock sternly and snaps the photo. The sparkly man doesn’t step away; he loiters in Nick’s space, watching as Nick adds a caption,  _ When a wild woodland sprite appears and ruins your perfectly good Story, _ and cackles as Nick hits send.

Nick gives the man a rather obvious onceover, fully intending to take charge of the flirting. He swears he’s properly good at it, that is, unless his family is around, but as far as he knows there are no stray Grimshaws roaming the halls at the moment. The man’s blouse sparkles at him like rose champagne – but rose champagne that Nick would very much like to drink – complete with a little tie at the neck, about half tucked into slim-fitting black trousers with a stripe down each leg.

The man flushes slightly under Nick’s gaze and Nick gives him a small smile in return, nodding slightly as if in approval and pocketing his phone. He steps infinitesimally closer and reaches out to tug a loose thread hanging from the hem of the sparkly shirt. He’s just about to gently tease him when the hem starts unraveling. Fuck. Fuck fuck bloody buggering fuck.  

Nick looks up in a panic but the man doesn’t seem alarmed in the slightest when his green (mossy? Or more emerald? Fuck, Nick needs to focus) eyes meet Nick’s. He leans into the touch as Nick drops the thread and places his hand over it on the man’s waist, as if to stop a leaky faucet or summat.

Nick looks around the hallway wildly; Henry was already going to kill him for being late, but he’ll actually murder him if Nick ruined another designer’s sample for London Fashion Week. His eyes land on a small sewing kit abandoned on one of the tables and Nick moves toward it instantly, his fingers curling around the man’s waist now and gently pulling him along. Somewhere in the back of his frantic mind, Nick registers how easily the man lets himself be led but there’s no time to consider it further at the moment; it’s time to locate his inner seamstress and get himself out of this mess.

Sewing kit firmly in hand, Nick tugs the man along through the nearest door, assuming it’s the gents that the man must have been exiting when he bumped into Nick. He shuts the door firmly and turns back to face the man who’s clearly biting back a laugh. The cheek of this one. Looking around for the counter to set the sewing kit on, Nick realizes there is no sink or counter because he’s managed to pull them into a closet. Right, then. He sets the kit on the nearest shelf as if that was his intention all along, and rustles through it for a needle and thread.

“What are you doing?” the man asks, his voice bubbling with a laugh and eyes sparkling. “You going to mend my blouse?”

“Yes, I’m going to mend  _ your _ blouse,” Nick replies, attempting to roll his eyes and thread this godforsaken needle at the same time. Models, honestly. “I can’t very well have you going back all a shambles, Henry’ll have my head.”

“Henry?” the man inquires, his tone suspiciously light.

Nick clips the end of the thread with the tiny, dull scissors from the kit and looks up. It’s his turn to bite back a laugh as he explains, “Henry. Best mate. His  _ boyfriend _ asked if I could take him to lunch today, get him out of the studio. He’s worried about how hard Henry’s been working to get ready for his show Saturday, it’s proper sweet really.”

“Oh,” the man sighs in evident relief, the slight tension that had gathered in his shoulders melting away. “That’s nice of you.”

“Right, now that we’ve got that sorted,” Nick smirks, “let’s mend your blouse, alright, Twiggy?”

“If you insist,” the man shrugs. He grins crookedly. “How do you want me?”

Nick looks to the heavens, but there’s no help for him now. This is going to be the end of him.

“Right here’s fine,” Nick says, exasperated. “And quiet, can you try for that?”

“I can be quiet,” he whispers back, leaning in to Nick’s ear.

“Enough out of you,” Nick grumbles, furrowing his brow and holding the sparkly hem of the blouse up, unintentionally revealing a strip of pale skin and the dark hint of tattoos. “No, no, I have to focus.”

“Were you talking to me?” 

Nick shrugs away from the second whisper into his ear. Who is this creature? He has no right being this sexy in such a confined space. Nick has done  _ nothing _ to deserve this.

He looks back down to where he’s holding up the blouse and notices that the waist of the man’s trousers sags a bit. He looks up in disgust. “Are you seriously smaller than a sample size? That is sickening.”

The man quirks his eyebrows at Nick but shrugs, lifting a hand to mimic zipping his lips and throwing away the key. It’s not cute. It’s  _ not. _

“So I just…” Nick murmurs, looking down and trying to remember how his mum used to do this in front of the telly. “Right, start here–”

Nick jabs the man’s hip by accident with the needle and before he can even think of rushing to apologize, no amount of cheek merited an attempt to draw blood, the man’s breath hitches.

Oh. 

_ Oh. _

Nick looks up to see a flush on the man’s cheeks, whose eyes are dropped and refusing to meet his.

“Sorry, love,” he murmurs, although he suspects it’s quite unnecessary. He slides a finger soothingly over the spot, definitely not thinking about how smooth the man’s skin is, and then resumes attempting to start the stitch.

The air is heavy between them as they both watch Nick’s clumsy fingers mend the fabric. It must only take a minute, but it feels like ages. Beads of sweat form on Nick’s forehead and he can’t tell if it’s from the panic of the moment or the way the man seems to be waiting for something.

He’s done a bad job of it, but finally the hem is stitched up. Nick loops the end of the thread and can’t stop himself from lightly poking the man’s skin again, next to the dark ink smudged on his hip that Nick is currently dying to ogle in full, just to… see.

The man shudders this time and luckily Nick is still looking down or he would have missed the man’s cock very clearly twitch in his bloody loose trousers. 

Fucking hell.

Holding his breath, Nick looks up and this time the man meets his gaze. He seems unsure, almost skittish, which makes Nick wants to do ridiculous things like pet his hair and kiss his temple.

“Sue?” 

They both jump at the voice calling out in the hallway, just outside the closet door, and then giggle as the voice outside mumbles, “The fuck did he go…”

“That’s me,” the man says quietly, eyes twinkling. Nick thinks maybe he doesn’t want to be found quite yet. Hopes it anyway. “I mean, that’s my friend. Looking for me. I, um… I should go tell him I’m still here.”

“Right, yeah,” Nick agrees quickly. “Of course. I’ve got, um…”

“Lunch,” the man supplies helpfully. “With Henry.”

“Yes, yes,” Nick replies, stumbling over the words. “That’s right.”

After what feels like hours of this man invading his personal space, Nick feels quite bereft as he moves away to open the door and the man doesn’t move with him. He looks back to see the man fingering his hem, smiling to himself, and Nick will deny it later but his heart clenches.

“Come along, then, Twiggy,” he says, grabbing the sewing kit and opening the door.

Nick strides out of the closet as if this is an everyday occurrence for him and sets the kit back down where he found it. He’s just about to turn back to the man when a mildly familiar voice exclaims, “Sue, are you coming out of the closet? Again?”

Nick sees the man emerging from the closet, grinning. He does a flouncy little curtsey for his friend down the hallway, someone Nick is sure that he’s met somewhere around, before turning back to Nick.

“I’ve got to go,” the man says regretfully, gesturing behind him in the direction of the studio he must be heading toward. “But, um… I’ll see you?”

“Fucking Christ, Nicholas!” A bellow suddenly travels down the hallway. Ah, so Henry’s found him, then. “Do you know how late you are?”

“Yes, love,” Nick hisses to the man, holding his hand out and then dropping it when he realizes he’s basically shooing him. “I’ll see you at–” he looks up at the nameplate of the studio “–Charles Jeffrey, alright?”

“Alright,” the man grins back at him, turning to walk with his waiting friend before casting a glance back.

“Go!” Nick mouths at him, trying not to laugh. He turns with a flourish and approaches his livid friend.

“Henry, darling! Have you been waiting long?”

He walks into the studio with Henry, listening to him catalog every issue he’s had to deal with so far this morning, nodding absently and murmuring in sympathy as he wonders how sparkly pink fits into Charles Jeffrey’s new line. Distracted, Henry rustles through a pile of samples as he drones on and if Nick subtly takes his phone out and saves the selfie he’d posted of him and the man, well then no one needs to know about that. 

*

It’s been three days and Nick hasn’t been able to stop thinking about his woodland sprite. 

And it’s not just how the man’s cock had twitched at the needle jab, although it’s definitely how his cock had twitched at the needle jab. But really it’s his stupid pretty eyes and the brown curls that Nick wants to run his fingers through and the graceful lightness to his gait. Well, his gait  _ after _ he’d knocked clear into Nick and almost fallen to the floor. 

Nick has never been this gone for someone this soon. Someone whose name he doesn’t even know, for fuck’s sake. He just… has a feeling about this one, and is rather anxious to see if he’s right. 

Tickets to the Charles Jeffrey show tonight had turned out to be rather hard to come by, but Nick is bound and determined to see a certain light gait in action after all, so he’d kept trying. Henry had finally come through for him, but refused to hand over the tickets until Nick explained why he was so keen. Fully expecting Henry to be livid, Nick had told the story in grand fashion in an attempt to minimize the horror of damaging another designer’s sample. To his surprise, instead of shouting at him, Henry had laughed at him instead, rather hysterically, for three full minutes. Nick timed it. 

He now owes Henry a rather large favor on demand, but he’s not bothered. Well, he is bothered at the moment, just not by Henry. Tapping his foot and checking his phone for the millionth time, Nick wishes Gillian would  _ hurry up. _ He’s this close to watching for her out the front window like a little kid or summat. Taking a deep, hopefully calming breath, Nick reminds himself that they do have plenty of time to get to the venue, seeing as how he’d lied and told her they would need to leave 30 minutes earlier than they really do. 

Dead sure he’s going to be crap at hiding how gone he is for the spritely man, Nick ponders just how much teasing he’s in for tonight. After careful consideration of his closest pals, trying to determine who would be the least embarrassing companion for the show tonight, Nick had come to the conclusion that he has no non-embarrassing mates. And Gillian was the only one who was free anyway. If only she would hurry her lazy arse up and–

“Hiya, Grim!” Gillian’s voice travels through the front hall as she lets herself in. 

All that waiting and Nick still startles as if there’s a midnight intruder or summat. He’d forgotten that Emily had taken the dogs in the garden so he didn’t have his usual warning system for visitors.

“Hiya, love,” Nick greets her, quite calmly if he does say so himself. He kisses her cheek before stepping back and smoothing a hand over his intentionally raggedy, red and blue striped jumper. “Alright, should we get a car then?”

“Oi, relax,” Gillian replies, setting her bag down. “What’s the rush?”

“We’re going to be  _ late, _ Gellz,” Nick says formidably. He studies her rather unimpressed face. Is Nick not formidable?

“Babes, they never start on time,” Gillian dismisses him, not unkindly. “Besides, you lied to my face and said to come earlier than I needed to, so there’s time for me to take my coat off at least.”

Nick’s cheeks start to burn and he turns toward the kitchen to hide his embarrassment at being caught out. “Right, d’you want a cuppa then?”  

He doesn’t wait for an answer as he walks out, flicking the kettle on when he reaches it and busying himself setting everything out on the counter. Patting at his cheeks and willing the blush away, Nick decides to pull out a third mug without bothering to ask Emily if she wants a cuppa; he can take it out to her in the garden before he hurries Gillian out the door.

“What’s got into you?” Gillian asks, walking in from the sitting room and taking a seat at the counter. “Alright, Grim?”

“Fine, fine–” Nick cuts himself off as he looks up at Gillian. Now that her coat’s off, he can see the light pink t-shirt she’s chosen for the show, an angel painting screened on the front. 

“What?” Gillian asks, looking down. “Is it alright? I didn’t have any Charles Jeffrey in my closet, so I popped into Topshop and found this, bit baggy but–”

“It’s perfect,” Nick declares. “Switch with me.”

He’s already pulling at the hem of his jumper as Gillian squawks indignantly, “What? What are you on about?”

Nick finishes whipping off his jumper and holds it out to her insistently as the kettle clicks off. When he doesn’t move to fix their tea, Gillian takes matters into her own hands, getting up to walk around the counter, squeezing around Nick to avoid his proffered jumper, and adding the tea and boiling water to the pot Nick had set out.

“Gellz, please,” Nick whines, tugging at the hem of her sleeve. “Please, it’s perfect, I have to wear it.”

“Why?” Gillian asks, bewildered. “What possible reason is there for switching outfits?”

“He’ll love it,” Nick replies wistfully, fingering the hem of the short light pink sleeve. He realizes his mistake a split second too late as Gillian’s face lights up.

_ “He? _ Who’s he?” she demands delightedly, shoving at his chest. “You’ve been holding out on me! Who’s  _ he, _ Grim?” 

Leaning back against the counter, refusing to relinquish his hold on Gillian’s sleeve, Nick sighs heavily and gives up all pretense.

“There’s just, um… so the other day, I went to visit Henry at the studio, right? Well, I was down the hall and I met this–”

“Oh my god, I saw that!” Gillian exclaims, pointing at him. “I saw that on Instagram, that boy you called, what was it? A _ woodland sprite?” _

Nick covers his face with his hands, whimpering. Miraculously, no one has taken the piss out of him for that ’til now so he’d managed to forget that his attempt at pulling wasn’t just an intimate moment between the two of them.

“He’s a model in the show tonight,” Nick mumbles through his hands. “That’s why we’re going, I want to see him again.”

“Nick,” Gillian coos, prodding at him until he drops his hands and accepts the mug she’s offering to him. “You’re adorable, you like a  _ boy.” _

“Man,” Nick corrects her primly, taking a sip of tea. “Man, he’s not that young.”

“Tell me about him,” Gillian replies, gently knocking her shoulder into his. “Thought your Diesel model phase was over.”

“No, it’s not…” Nick sighs, trailing off and slumping his shoulders. Maybe he should have forced Aimee to cancel whatever she’d had on tonight; she can always tell without his saying so when something’s not for teasing. “It’s not like that. He’s not just a model, you know?”

“No, you knob, I don’t know because you haven’t told me anything about him,” Gillian reminds him. “And I’m not wearing that jumper for you until you do.”

“There’s not that much to tell,” Nick replies, spirits lifting now that he knows he can get his hands on her t-shirt. “We quite literally bumped into each other and we only spoke for a few minutes before Henry stormed the hall in a rage because I was late, and I didn’t even get his name, but I know he’s in the show tonight.”

Gillian hums, running a hand lightly over his back before lifting her eyebrows in understanding. “Oh, he had on like a sparkly pink get-up in the photo, didn’t he? That’s why you want this?” she asks, indicating her t-shirt.

“Yes,” Nick confirms, draining the rest of his tea and just now noticing the empty third mug on the counter. Oh, well, water should still be hot when he gets to it. “Yes, can I  _ please _ have your shirt now?”

“Alright, alright,” Gillian says, standing up straight from where she’d been leaning against the counter next to him. “Come on, don’t fancy getting my kit off in the kitchen.”

Nick rolls his eyes, but allows Gillian to tug him down the hall. She finally takes the t-shirt off and hands it over, taking the jumper from him and pulling it on. Turning this way and that in front of his mirror, she tugs it to hang somewhat pleasingly on her tall frame, the slash across the right side of the jumper falling just below her collarbone. She frowns at the cropped hem.

“Does it hang right?” she asks over her shoulder. “Just looks oversize and not like I’m humoring my mad friend?”

“Gorgeous, darling,” Nick chirps without looking as he pulls a black suit jacket off a hanger to pair with the black skinnies he already has on and the pink t-shirt in his hands. He gets dressed quickly and heads into the en suite to check the damage to his previously styled hair.

“You look good, Grim,” Gillian comments, walking up behind him. “He’s gonna love you.”

“From your lips,” Nick says airily, as if none of this matters very much, combing his fingers through his quiff one last time before meeting Gillian’s eyes in the mirror. He falters a little at the understanding he sees there, desperate for their stiff upper lips to return.

“Take a photo, then,” Gillian says, knocking her shoulder lightly into his. “We have time for a mirror selfie photo session, don’t we?”

Nick laughs, some of the nerves alleviated, and takes his phone out. They do silly poses for a few minutes as Nick snaps away, and then choose one for him to add to his Story.

“Right then,” Gillian announces, clapping her hands together. “I’ll request a car, you fix Duckie a cuppa, then we’ll say bye on our way out.”

*

“Are you sure?” Nick asks the harried PR girl who’s shown them to their seats. He exchanges a dubious glance with Gillian as the girl runs a long red nail down her list, nods curtly and clacks off in her stilettos without a word.

“Well, then,” Gillian remarks as they settle in the folding chairs at the very end of the front row. “Aren’t we posh?”

“We’d be down the middle then,” Nick scoffs, nodding down their row to where the proper famouses are pretending not to notice the photogs snapping away at them. “But yeah, bit weird to be sat front row, didn’t think Henry’d be bothered to get us an upgrade.”

Gillian shrugs, clearly having lost interest in their unexpectedly decent seats, and busies herself on her phone. Most likely she needs a break from Nick’s nervous energy after the drive over (they’d hit traffic, Nick’s not responsible for his behavior). Knowing he won’t be able to muster enough focus for even social media, Nick foregoes his phone in favor of jiggling his crossed leg and looking around. He doesn’t really mind Gillian’s quasi ignoring him so long as she’s not doing live commentary to their WhatsApp group or anything. 

Nick’s nerves start to subside as he takes in the almost warehouse-like space around them and his critical eye takes over. There’s some painted fabric draped on the pillars in the middle of the runway and a couple of chairs set out between them. They look to be wrought iron, a bit fancier than the folding chairs for the audience, and Nick wonders what use is in store for them during the show. Maybe his sparkly man will drape himself across one instead of walking the runway? 

A band set up on the other side of the room catches Nick’s attention next. They’re not playing yet, just sitting disinterestedly with their instruments, and Nick sends up a quick prayer that they’re vaguely decent.

Shifting his gaze to the front of the room, Nick considers the inflated figures of varying sizes placed up front as a backdrop instead of a sign or lighting display with the designer’s name. It’s either dead clever or a total cockup, no in between; Nick’s just not sure which yet. The figures shift a little as more PR girls scurry by with clipboards, creating a slight breeze. Nick squints a little at the designs painted on them, trying to make out what they’re meant to be, some kind of fantastical creatures or summat? He can’t quite tell even though they’re sat at the end of their row, he’ll have to get a closer look after the–

“Hullo.”

Nick’s head snaps up in the direction of the familiar, blessedly deep voice. And suddenly there he is, just the fantastical creature that Nick came to see. 

Wait.

“What are you doing out here?” Nick hisses lowly. “Shouldn’t you be lining up backstage? The show’s about to start.”

The man – not so sparkly today, outfitted in ridiculously wide-legged pinstripe trousers with a tight black t-shirt tucked into his high waistband – frowns at him. It’s kind of adorable, really, but Nick hates that he’s responsible for it somehow. 

“What?” he asks as he perches on the folding chair next to Nick, turned toward him. “Oh, no, I’m not… no, I’m not, er, in the show. Just, um, just here to watch.”

Nick stares at the man a bit stupidly as his frown slowly turns into a smirk, understanding dawning on his face. 

“You thought I was walking tonight,” the man declares, grinning triumphantly and sitting back in his chair. The way he leans back with an easy confidence is not sexy. It’s _ not. _ “That’s why you were dead set on mending my shirt the other day, you thought it was one of the pieces for this show?”

“Yeah, I–” Nick struggles to put all the pieces of this puzzle of a man together. “Hang on, you’re not? But you  _ are _ a model, you must be with that figure–”

Nick breaks off at the delight on the man’s face. He can’t even be embarrassed, he’s too entranced by how pretty the man looks when he’s pleased. Now  _ that _ expression Nick will cheerfully accept full responsibility for. 

“’M Harry,” the man interrupts his reverie, holding a rather stupidly large hand out for Nick to shake. “And I am a model, with this figure–” gesturing down at his lanky body with his other hand “–but I’m not in this show. My mate, he’s Harry too, Harry Lambert? He introduced me to Charles and arranged for me to visit the showroom and borrow an outfit for tonight.”

“So, that…” Nick trails off, realizing he’s still holding Harry’s hand and Gillian is probably watching all of this from over his shoulder but not quite sure what to do about either of those things.

“That blouse was mine,” Harry nods, rubbing his thumb over Nick’s knuckle. 

Oh, fuck. Nick is an idiot.

“Oh, fuck, I’m an idiot,” Nick confesses. “And I’m Nick, that’s me. Or Grimmy, if you’d like, but Nick. I’m Nick.”

“I know,” Harry grins, doing that thing with his thumb again. It’s the most chaste touch possible amidst a crowd like they are at the moment, but combined with that knowing grin it feels downright indecent. “I know who you are, used to listen to Breakfast any time I was up early for a shoot.”

“You knew who I was?” Nick asks, torn between retrieving his hand so he doesn’t get hard in public and enjoying Harry’s thumb soothing over his knuckle too much.

“Yeah,” Harry laughs, blushing faintly. “I don’t let just any fit stranger pull me into a broom closet, I’m not that kind of girl.”

Nick’s about to come back with something good, really smooth this time about what kind of girl Harry could be, when something Harry said a moment ago suddenly clicks into place for him.

“Wait! You are a model, I’ve seen you before,” Nick exclaims, finally pulling his hand back to snap his fingers at Harry. “You were in that Gucci campaign, the mad one with the dressing gown and the chicken!”

“Oh, yes, Geraldine was lovely,” Harry answers casually. Nick can see that he’s fighting to keep his face neutral, but he seems pleased, and maybe a little embarrassed, that Nick recognized him. It’s a good look on him. He looks happy. 

“Gucci, that’s major,” Nick remarks, hoping that pleased and embarrassed win out over Harry’s neutral facade. He nudges Harry’s shoulder with his own. “Well done you.”

Harry smiles softly at him, seemingly unsure how to accept the compliment, and Nick rushes to fill the silence.

“Was that Gucci you had on the other day, then?” he asks. “The sparkles and the trousers that were too big? What, Gucci doesn’t do custom tailoring for you?”

“I just like ’em a little loose,” Harry banters back easily.

“Clearly,” Nick declares, gesturing toward the flowy Charles Jeffrey trousers Harry’s got on. Harry barks a loud laugh and claps a hand over his mouth.

“I kind of lived in skinny jeans for a few years,” he explains, smiling crookedly. “Like a bit of room now.”

“I imagine you’d need it,” Nick quips, knocking a knee into Harry’s and delighting in the grin on his face. He put that there. They don’t have much time to follow up on the innuendo, the lights are dimming already, so instead he asks, “Why didn’t you correct me? The other day, in the broom closet?”

“Because you’re really fit and you have a nice smile,” Harry says simply but with fairly intense eye contact.

Nick is still staring him in the eyes as the lights go down completely and the unfortunately dreadful music starts. He finally manages to tear his eyes away to watch as the first model comes out amidst the spotlights flitting over the runway, but he leans slightly toward Harry in his chair. They both turn their heads to watch the model’s progress and Nick just now notices that there are a few models between the pillars, made up to look kind of like zombie club kids, either cheering or heckling the ones walking the runway.

“That’s the worst kind of job,” Harry says lowly in Nick’s ear. A shiver runs through Nick and he does a bad job of hiding it if Harry’s smile is anything to go by. 

“You’ve had to do that sort of thing?” he whispers back, hoping that Harry will have to lean closer to hear.

Harry nods back as the cymbals in the drum kit suddenly clash even louder than before for a few moments, impossible to be heard over, and shifts in his seat so his arm is pressed against Nick’s. Nick tries, and mostly likely fails, to tamp down his smile and study the looks seriously; it’s impossible to concentrate what with the steady stream of commentary from Harry’s gravelly voice right in his ear for the remainder of the show. Nick can’t quite make out all of it, but he hears enough to gather that the gender-ambiguous looks are Harry’s favorites. He files that bit of information away in his new mental Harry folder.

Nick nods along, unable to form replies about the silhouettes and bit of tartan on the runway until a model dressed unmistakably as an actual lobster starts walking in front of them. He can’t help it, he bursts into a laugh at the red dress and headgear; the model even has red rouge smeared all over her face. He expects an elbow to his ribs from one side or the other, or both, but instead Harry giggles into Nick’s neck, hiding his face. Nick’s laugh dies out as Harry’s breath tickles his skin and he feels a distinct, purposeful nudge of Harry’s nose against his earlobe and promptly stops breathing.

Harry mumbles something about lobsters against his skin but Nick can’t understand him; it’s too loud and there are too many distractions. Besides, he can’t be expected to think clearly with Harry practically half in his lap. 

The rest of the audience starts clapping and Nick jumps, having lost all sense of time. He looks up to see that the man himself has popped out on the runway for a bow just before he disappears backstage again and then the room is immediately filled with loud chatter as the lights come on. The spell is broken as Harry pulls away, smiling sheepishly.

“That was sick,” Harry comments, running a hand through his already mussed curls. 

“Yeah, sick,” Nick agrees. “I quite like a show with a lobster, myself, but could have used more sparkly pink pussy bows, don’t you think?”

Harry cackles, reaching out a hand to finger the hem of Nick’s t-shirt.

“Forgot to say,” he says, looking up coquettishly. Christ, who even is he? “Like your top. You look good in pink.”

Nick’s face flushes as the loud sound of Gillian clearing her throat behind him interrupts them. Oh, right.

“Thanks,” he says, gesturing behind him. “I borrowed it from my friend. Not all of us can pop into the designer’s showroom for an outfit.”

It’s Harry’s turn to blush and he does so very prettily as a platinum blonde man, similarly kitted out in Charles Jeffrey, approaches.

“Sue! Sick show, yeah?” the man exclaims. This must be Harry’s friend Harry, who Nick is now sure he’s met at some point at one of these events. “Found your boyfriend, did you? Did he like the seats?”

Nick looks over to his Harry, who’s glaring bloody murder at his friend.

“Yeah, thanks,” Nick says, leaning his knee into Harry’s, wanting him to know none of this bothers him. Quite the opposite, in fact. “Sick.”

“He didn’t mean–” Harry starts earnestly, turning to look to Nick.

“Sue, come on, there’s people you need to meet, networking to do,” Harry Lambert interrupts, glancing over at Nick. “Alright?”

“I’m gonna be here for a bit,” Nick says casually, gesturing toward the front of the room. “Wanted to get a better look at that backdrop. Come find me later?”

(His) Harry smiles, seemingly reassured, and nods firmly. “Yeah, I will.”

Nick watches as the two Harrys walk off in the crowd, trying not to lose sight of them after a glance over the shoulder from the spritely one. An exaggerated cough snaps him out of it.

“You know,” Gillian says pointedly, “you didn’t actually have to bring anyone tonight, you could have just come yourself. You didn’t even introduce me.”

“Sorry,” Nick winces. “I just wasn’t sure how it was going to go, you know?”

“Yeah, Grim,” she smiles, “’s okay. He’s really pretty. And he seems well into you, outrageous flirt, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Nick replies dreamily, and he’s sure he’s going to get the piss taken out of him later but Gellz lets it go for now and they get up to wander about. Between examining the set design more closely and the show that Gillian had to watch silently, they have plenty to talk about and before Nick knows it an hour has gone by. 

They both look around the thinning crowd, but can’t locate either Harry.

“Well, what do you think?” Gillian asks, throwing her arm over his shoulder. “I don’t see him anywhere. But you got his name, right? You’ll find him again?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nick assures her, trying to mask his disappointment. “Yeah, ’s fine, let’s go.”

They make their way out of the studio, winding through people, and Nick keeps an ear out for the ridiculous barking laugh that he’s so fond of, but nothing. It’s as they’re waiting on the pavement for their car, shivering in the autumn night air, that Nick thinks to check his phone.

He has a crush of new notifications from work emails to WhatsApp to Twitter, but only one that matters: 

@harrystyles has followed him on Instagram.

*

_ OHMAGODDDDDDDDDDDDD BABES LOOK AT YOU SO MEGA WOWWW OHMA GODDD _

Nick grins at the direct message from Rita, the capital letters followed by about a hundred heart eyes and heart with arrow emojis. He knows he looks well fit tonight but it’s always nice to get screaming compliments from his mates. Preening, he dashes off a reply with a few kissy faces, double-checks that he doesn’t have any messages from anyone else, and pockets his phone.

The track he’s playing has another minute on it, so he scans the club’s pleasingly dramatic, Moulin Rouge-esque decor for the hundredth time, coming up empty. Again. Nick had immediately followed Harry – Harry  _ Styles, _ if that isn’t the most fitting surname Nick’s ever heard in his life – back on Instagram last night, telling himself he’d be mature, an  _ adult, _ and message Harry directly to say he wanted to see him again. Instead Nick had teased his sudden plans to DJ the first hour of Henry’s afterparty at Lou Lou’s tonight on his Story all day, Henry having promptly cashed in his favor in exchange for the Charles Jeffrey tickets. 

Taking a sip from his glass of water after changing the track, Nick wonders again if Harry had gone to the show instead of the party and he’d missed his chance by leaving early to set up here. Unable to curb the impulse to check to see if Harry’s posted a photo or Story to Instagram since the last time he checked (so, five minutes ago), Nick sighs and pulls his phone out. As he suspected: nothing. He hasn’t had a chance to do a deep dive of Harry’s page yet, saving that for when he has proper time for it, but it doesn’t look like Harry’s quite as addicted to social media as Nick is, which is bollocks.

Aimee, Gillian and Alexa, apparently tiring of dancing like lunatics in front of the DJ booth, swarm around the side to come talk to him. Knowing he’ll be distracted, he quickly queues a few tracks to play in a row before looking over to his friends. Instead of hellos or air kisses, they all whoop and cat call him as he basks in the attention, turning this way and that, posing in his red pleather, thigh high, high heeled boots.

“Going all out tonight, babes,” Alexa shouts, leering exaggeratedly. 

“Of course he is,” Gillian replies before Nick has a chance to. “He’s peacocking, didn’t you watch his Stories today? He’s trying to lure Harry here.”

“Harry? Who’s Harry?” Alexa demands of Gillian instead of him, which Nick would think is a bit rude if he weren’t relieved that he’s not expected to answer.

“Hullo, ’m Harry.”

All four of them startle, Alexa almost dropping her drink. Nick laughs at her even as he wonders how Harry keeps managing to sneak up on him even when he’s specifically watching for him. 

A chorus of “Hi, Harry”s greets him but Harry’s only looking at Nick, smiling shyly. He’s more dressed down than Nick’s seen him yet, tight black skinnies  _ (interesting) _ and boots topped off by a yellow t-shirt with red stripes. The neckline is open enough that Nick wouldn’t even have to pull it aside to leave a love bite on his collarbones.

Not that he’s thinking about that.

“Bye, girls,” Nick says, flapping a hand at them while maintaining eye contact with Harry. He hears them giggling madly as they blessedly leave him and Harry alone without putting up much of a fight, but he doesn’t really care because Harry’s moving to stand closer, eyes flickering down to Nick’s legs.  

“Hi,” he says quietly as he leans up just a bit to make up the artificial height difference, so that just Nick can hear. 

“Took you long enough,” Nick says cheekily, drinking in Harry’s stupidly pretty but maybe a bit tired-looking face.

“Oh,” Harry says, grinning like he’s surprised that Nick noticed. Idiot. “Yeah, couldn’t make it to the show, had a work commitment, and then I got caught up talking to Henry’s mum for a bit on my way in, she’s hilarious.”

Choosing to ignore that Harry was off charming Henry’s mum, who is indeed hilarious  _ but still, _ instead of him, Nick chances at brushing a wild curly lock off of Harry’s face. They both hold their breath for a moment before Nick realizes he has to select another track soon or Henry will probably pop out of nowhere to murder him.

Once Rihanna’s serenading the room about her increasingly wild thoughts, Nick turns back to Harry, wondering if he can tell the song reminds Nick of him. And then something that, frankly, almost never happens to Nick: He’s quite at a loss for words. They stand there silently for a moment, looking a bit stupidly at each other, Nick quite sure they’re being keenly observed by his mates from somewhere in the room.

“You followed me on Instagram,” Nick blurts suddenly. Harry’s eyes widen in surprise but he doesn’t reply immediately because what would he even reply to that? Christ,  _ Nick’s _ the idiot. “Wait, if you knew who I was, why weren’t you following me already?”

Harry flushes at Nick’s faux bristling, looking down to his feet where he’s scuffing the floor with the toe of his boot.

“Felt a bit funny, didn’t it?” He looks back up at Nick after a moment, answering his question with a question. It’s already close quarters in the DJ booth but they’re in each other’s spaces in order to hear each other and meeting Harry’s gaze from this close up is a lot. “I mean, before we were, like, properly introduced? And, um, I don’t really use it a lot, I don’t do a lot with any social media really ’cause it’s just, like… talking for the sake of it? Without actually saying anything, you know? ’S not really me.”

“Oh, well, that’s me, I’ve made a career out of it,” Nick quips, delighting in the cackle he earns from Harry.

“Oi, Grimmy,” Henry pops out of nowhere to interrupt with a shout in their faces. “You’re off duty, your replacement has arrived.”

“Hiya, mate,” Nick greets the man standing awkwardly behind Henry. “Alright if you leave out my flash drive just there when the track’s done and I keep my stuff in the corner?”

Without waiting for an answer, Nick drags Harry just onto the edge of the dance floor for the last minute of the song. Gently but firmly turning Harry to face away from him, Nick pulls Harry back into him, placing his hands on his hips and whispering into his ear, “Alright?”

Harry shudders, leaning back into Nick’s chest, nodding. They don’t dance so much as sway slightly as the song plays out, Nick sure that Harry knows now it reminds him of him.

His replacement puts on something fucking dreadful after their song ends and if Nick felt bad about being a bit rude before, he doesn’t anymore.

“Come on,” he says, squeezing Harry’s hips, “let’s get a drink.”

“Just one,” Harry replies regretfully before biting his lip. “Got the show tomorrow, can’t stay too late.”

“’S alright, love,” Nick reassures him. “One drink is fine. Have you been here before? One’s really all you need. Then we can take selfies with the giraffe.”

Harry laughs, letting Nick pull him through the crowd by the hand. They get drinks – gin fizz for Nick, something godawful and, of course, pink for Harry – and stand by the bar for awhile, making up backstories for some of the more colorful characters on the dance floor. Then Nick makes Harry do his best professional model poses in front of the life-sized stuffed giraffe, shouting out directions as he snaps photos with his phone until Harry literally collapses into giggles. They start to make their way back to the DJ booth after that, Nick getting a bit tired of suffering for fashion with his aching feet despite the way Harry keeps looking his legs up and down, making Nick feel like a piece of meat. He loves it. 

Harry is walking in front of Nick, who’s guiding him with both hands on his hips, occasionally squeezing the slight love handles just above them. Nick’s cock is starting to stiffen but he can’t fucking help it, can’t keep his hands to himself. A girl in a fur vest suddenly steps right in front of Harry and when he halts to avoid crashing into her, Nick and his growing erection bump directly into Harry’s small but glorious arse.

Sucking in a breath, Harry quickly moves his hands to cover Nick’s on his hips. Nick steps back, pulling Harry with him and then turning to face him as he cages Harry up against the wall.

“This okay?” he asks lowly, taking in Harry’s lidded eyes and flushed cheeks. And when Harry nods frantically, gripping at Nick’s waist with sweaty hands, Nick finally moves all the way into Harry’s space to slant their lips together. 

It should be awful; they’re in a club, probably about to be jostled by the reveling strangers surrounding them, and don’t get Nick started on the dreadful music his replacement is still playing. And first kisses are always awful, teeth clacking and noses bumping into each other.

It’s not awful. It’s  _ everything. _

Nick pours every single thought he’s spared about Harry over the past four days into it, needing him to know with every slide of their lips how much Nick wants him, wants with him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Nick registers that Harry is returning his kiss with equal fervor, eager lips are chasing his, their tongues dancing together. Maybe Harry’s been thinking about Nick as much as Nick’s been thinking about him. 

The thought makes Nick wild and he instinctively moves one hand to hold the back of Harry’s neck possessively as he tries to get more of the kiss, open his mouth wider, massage more of Harry’s tongue with his own. Nick swallows Harry’s moan, pulling him as close as he physically can, moving his fingers up to tug slightly at the curls on the back of Harry’s head. 

Harry’s mouth goes completely slack at that; he’s pliant in Nick’s arms as Nick takes and takes, kissing him with everything he has, rubbing their clothed erections against each other a bit obscenely for how firmly in public they are at the moment. 

Suddenly Harry’s phone vibrates in his front pocket, startling both of them. Nick pulls back just enough so their mouths aren’t touching and they both pant for a moment, trying to catch their breath. Harry looks up at him in wonder, looking just as affected as Nick feels, making his heart swell in addition to other parts of him.

“’S my alarm,” Harry manages, still breathing heavily. “I should go, the show…”

Nick nods, thoughts racing. He desperately wants to leave with Harry, finish what they’ve started, but he doesn’t want to mess up Harry’s schedule, the contract Harry must have with Gucci is pretty major. And besides, he thinks as he caresses the side of Harry’s face, this one is different. Special. He can wait.

“I’ll walk you out, love,” he says, stepping back and adjusting himself. Harry leans against the wall, eyes shamelessly focused on Nick’s bulge.

“No, ’s okay,” he shakes his head. “If you walk me out, I won’t be able to resist taking you home and I really shouldn’t–”

“Sh, ’s okay, pet,” Nick assures him, reaching out to stroke Harry’s cheek again. “I understand.”

Harry sighs in evident relief, smiling shyly at him. “Will I, um… will I see you there?”

“Yeah, think that can be arranged,” Nick murmurs. He’s already texted Harry Lambert to sort it.

Harry’s smile widens, taking over his whole face. His phone buzzes again, and he shrugs. “I, um… I had a lovely time,” he says before his grin turns wicked, “I’m glad you lured me here.”

Nick squawks indignantly before giving up the pretense and replying, “Me, too, love. Me too.”

Harry leans up and kisses his cheek  _ (who even is he?) _ before walking away. Nick watches him go, eyes firmly on Harry’s arse encased in the tight denim that he’s pretty sure was worn for his benefit, before turning toward the gents to sort himself out.

*

Nick joins in the politely subdued applause, willing himself to stay seated as the last model trails off the runway. He’s been itching to leap out of his chair and rush backstage since Harry’s second spritely trip down the runway, but he wants to give Harry a chance to breathe and get decent before he accosts him.

Well, a chance to breathe anyway.

After forcing himself to wait a full four minutes, Nick stands and starts to make his way through the lingering crowd. The very picture of cool, calm and collected, he leaves a string of muttered “pardon me”s in his wake. Once he reaches the entrance to the backstage area, he gives his name to the PR girl guarding it, attempting to match her perfectly bored tone, and saunters through once she finds him on her list, yawning.

It’s chaos backstage. Nick hangs back for a moment, getting his bearings. He spies a couple of models still clad head to toe in Gucci popping a bottle in one of the corners (good on them) and there’s more assistants running to and fro with hangers, both empty and full, than he can count. A couple of small camera crews are interviewing the big names in another corner, so Nick hurries to figure out where he’s going, not wanting to get caught up; he’s not here for them. A sudden loud, honking laugh echoes from down the room and Nick turns in its direction. 

He’s here for him. 

Giving up his pretense of cool, Nick quickly winds his way through the throng of people, finally finding Harry at the back of the room at one of the makeup artists’ stations. He’s slouched down against the counter, eyes closed, while a petite girl with bleached hair delicately puts light gold eyeshadow on him. Nick’s breath catches in his throat and he stops in his tracks, almost causing a PR girl pile-up behind him. 

“All set, H,” the girl announces, stepping back and busying herself at her station. Harry stands up straight, blinking slowly a few times before hugging the girl from behind.

“Thanks, Lots,” he drawls obnoxiously before stepping back and ruffling her hair. The girl rolls her eyes, otherwise ignoring him. 

Nick clears his throat and Harry’s head snaps toward him. Relief floods Harry’s face and Nick feels a tug at his heart. Is it possible that Harry wasn’t sure he was coming? That Harry’s not sure of how completely gone for him Nick is?

“Hiya,” Nick greets him with a stupid little wave, cursing himself.

“Hiya,” Harry parrots back, stupid little wave and all. Cheeky.

They stand there for a few moments, taking each other in, until a muttered “fuck’s sake” snaps Nick out of it. He glances toward Harry’s friend, who’s concentrating on cleaning her brushes but with a smirk on her face. 

“So, did you–”

“You were–”

Nick and Harry both fall silent after attempting to speak at the same time, and he doesn’t look but Nick is sure that Harry’s friend rolls her eyes at them. He steps forward to close the distance between them and says softly, “You were brilliant, love.”

Harry blushes prettily, which is quickly becoming one of Nick’s favorite sights, and his eyelashes flutter closed as he looks down. The hint of eyeshadow only adds to the near ethereal nature of his good looks and Nick’s not sure how equipped he is to handle that. If he’s not careful, he’s going to wind up writing sonnets about this boy.

Christ’s sake, when did he become such a sap?

“Don’t play bashful,” he teases, resisting the urge to melt into a puddle on the floor. He runs a finger down the buttons of Harry’s black and tan checked vest and rests his hand on his waist, above the matching trousers. “You can’t pull one over on me; no one parading around in this outfit is  _ shy.” _

“Hey,” Harry whines happily, clearly basking in Nick’s attention. Just as he should be. “I like it.”

“I like it, too, love,” Nick admits, shamelessly looking Harry up and down. “I quite liked the pieces you walked in, as well; my nan had a sofa just like that one floral suit.”

Harry shoves at his shoulder, but lightly enough so as not to dislodge Nick’s hand from his waist. Not that Nick notices.

“She did not,” Harry counters, grinning, a step closer than he’d been a moment ago.

“Nah, she didn’t,” Nick agrees easily. “She did wear her scarves wrapped ’round her hair like that when it was raining out though, protect the hair at all costs.”

“’M not like a regular nan, I’m like a cool nan,” Harry replies, extraordinarily proud of himself judging by the look on his face. Nick cackles and Harry downright preens.

“H, I’m leaving, you can flirt awkwardly in private now,” Harry’s friend interrupts. She ducks in and gives Harry a quick kiss on the cheek before squaring her eyes at Nick. “Alright, Grimmy? Be good to him; this one’s like a brother to me and I’d hate to have to track you down if you hurt him.”

“Bye, Lottie,” Harry says loudly, pushing at her arm with one hand as he grins at Nick’s slack-jawed expression. She’s gone before Nick can gather his thoughts and reassure her of his intentions.

“Your friend seems nice,” he says mildly, watching her stride confidently toward the exit. 

“My best mate’s sister,” Harry informs him. “I’ve known the whole family for years. She and Lou are the most protective but I’m pretty sure you’d have all seven siblings to answer to if you messed me around.”

Looking back over to Harry, Nick sees that his posture is relaxed and he’s grinning confidently. There’s an unmistakable hint of vulnerability in his eyes when Nick searches them, though, like Nick messing him around is something Harry has already thought about. Nick smiles sadly, sparing a fleeting thought to whoever in Harry’s past might be the cause for such a concern. Hoping that the light squeeze he gives Harry’s hip is reassuring, Nick fights to overcome his usual awkwardness in the face of sincere emotion.

“I wouldn’t,” Nick says simply, looking directly into Harry’s gold-flecked eyes. “I won’t.”

The promise hangs between them for a moment and then Harry quickly leans in and brushes his lips just barely against Nick’s. The kiss is over before Nick can even close his eyes but from the way Harry’s eyes sparkle back at him, it doesn’t look like he minds very much.

There’s a crash from the other side of the room, followed closely by cursing in a couple of different languages, and Nick remembers that they’re not alone.

“D’you want a tour?” Harry asks slyly, something clearly up the short sleeve of the black t-shirt he’s got on underneath that terrible vest. 

“This might surprise you, young Harold,” Nick banters, trying to decide if he wants to lift his hand from Harry’s hip to poke at his ridiculous dimple, “but I’ve seen my fair share of backstages in my time.”

“Right, come on then, old man,” Harry replies, cocky grin firmly in place. He takes Nick’s hand from his waist to tug him along by. “So these are the makeup stations, obviously, and then on the other side is supposed to be hair but they get mixed up all the time, with the way people are always in a mad rush.”

From his tone, Nick suspects that Harry loves the mad rush, but he doesn’t ask follow-up questions, sensing that Harry is on some kind of mission. He plays along, letting himself be pulled around, “ooh”ing and “ah”ing at the row of steamers. The racks upon racks of immaculate samples draw an unbidden genuine sigh of contentment from Nick, Harry not being the only reason he’s glad to find himself at a Gucci show, and he sees Harry’s chest puff up with pride.

Harry keeps up a steady stream of commentary, pointing out the people he knows and listing their children’s names, until Nick pulls him to a stop in front of the prop table.

“Oh my  _ god,” _ Nick exclaims. “I cannot believe you were just going to pull me right past  _ this plastic model of your head.”  _

“Sick, innit,” Harry grins at him, letting Nick drop his hand to poke at it. Nick draws the line at picking it up, unnerved remembering the sight of Harry strutting down the runway carrying a perfect replica of his own likeness when there were perfectly good plastic iguana props available. “I asked ’em if I could keep it but they said no.”

“Are you mental?” Nick squawks. “One, why would you want to  _ keep it?  _ What were you going to use it for?” Horrified, Nick ignores Harry’s casual shrug as he continues, “And what are  _ they _ going to do with it now that the show’s over?”

“Dunno,” Harry says easily, as if that’s not seriously disturbing. Nick casts a helpless glance back to the table littered with realistic-looking human heads and a baby dinosaur or two as Harry pulls him along. A few feet away, Harry pauses to finger a silver sequin jumpsuit discarded on an otherwise empty rack that one of the other models had worn in the show.

“Pretty,” Nick comments sincerely. It’s not really his taste to wear much sparkle, but he’s definitely attracted to shiny things. The wistful model clasping his hand being exhibit A. “You would have looked better in it than the cow they sent it down on in.”

As he’d hoped, the purposefully catty remark draws one of Harry’s honking laughs. “Nick! I’ve met that girl, she’s lovely.” Harry looks to the jumpsuit again, reaching out to feel the chiffon accents between his fingers for a moment. “I was watching on the monitors, she looked great. But yeah, I just… dunno, just like this one.”

“Me, too, love,” Nick replies, squeezing Harry’s hand before he uses it to drag Nick along.

“Okay, just over here…” Harry trails off as he turns a doorknob and pulls Nick behind him into the next room. Distracted by Harry’s arse (how does it look so good in that godawful check print?), it takes Nick rather longer than it should to register the momentary darkness after Harry’s reached past him to shut the door and before he flicks on the light. Blinking, Nick looks around and–

“Did you,” Nick breaks off his inner monologue to grin at Harry, who’s looking up at him innocently. “Did you  _ seriously _ orchestrate a tour of the entire backstage area just so you could be the one to pull me into a broom closet this time?”

“I did,” Harry nods, his small smile verging on deranged. He’s so pleased with himself. God, it’s cute. “What are you going to do about it?”

Never one to back down from a challenge, Nick takes a step forward and crowds Harry against the back of the door. 

“This.”

He takes Harry’s face in his hands and kisses him gently at first. Harry tastes faintly of the combination of products they must have used to make his face up and then clean it off, so Nick kisses him more firmly until it starts to fade away and all he can taste is  _ Harry. _

Harry, who’s whimpering into Nick’s mouth and gripping his hips tightly, trying to pull him closer. Remembering how much they’d each liked it last night (as if he’s thought of anything else in the intervening hours), Nick moves a hand to the back of Harry’s neck and feels him relax immediately into the hold. He pulls away and Harry chases his mouth, his whine softening into a moan when Nick gently tips Harry’s head back with his hand and moves his lips to Harry’s throat.  

“Nick,” Harry breathes, “Nick, I, please–”

“I’ve got you,” Nick whispers into Harry’s skin. He tugs the neck of Harry’s t-shirt aside, thinking wistfully of the missed opportunity of the yellow top from the night before, and presses sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to the skin it would just cover before setting about giving Harry a love bite in earnest. 

Harry alternates between whimpers and holding his mouth open in a silent moan as Nick swirls his tongue against his skin. Nick’s starting to get hard faster than he normally might; it’s just that Harry’s so  _ responsive _ and Nick has a sneaky suspicion he’s getting off on the fact that people are probably walking past the closet, hearing them. If he’s honest, Nick might be getting off on it too; he redoubles his efforts, trying to draw more of Harry’s low, husky sounds out. 

After a few moments, Nick pulls back and examines his work, his eyes flickering up to Harry’s face. His pink lips are parted slightly and he’s looking back at Nick with hazy, lust-blown eyes. Nick gives the back of Harry’s neck a light squeeze, and Harry’s cock twitches where it’s pressed up against him. 

Suddenly dying to try something out, Nick bends his head forward and bites the reddened skin he’d been focused on moments ago. If he’s wrong and Harry hates it, he thinks they’ll be alright, he can apologize and–

_ “Nick,” _ Harry cries out, thrusting his pelvis forward and gripping Nick’s hips so tightly he might leave light bruises. God, Nick loves being right. “Fuck, Nick, oh my god.”

Nick presses a kiss to the faint indentation of his own teeth before grinding into Harry, meeting his thrusts. He looks up to Harry’s flushed face and, even though he knows the answer already, asks, “Alright, love?”

_ “Yes,” _ Harry answers immediately, tipping his head back and nuzzling the back of his head down into Nick’s hand. Nick toys with the strands of hair as Harry closes his eyes and starts babbling, “Fuck, oh my god, yes, alright, want it, want so much with you–”

Nick interrupts Harry by shoving his tongue into his mouth and they snog for what feels like ages, like they’re bloody teenagers, and Nick thinks vaguely he must remember to ask Harry exactly how old he is at some point. He’s fairly certain he’s not snogging a teenager, but one can never be too careful.

“Sue!”

They jump apart at the sudden knock on the door accompanied by a familiar shout.

“Sue, come on, I’ve ordered a car for the afterparty. Your boyfriend can come if he wants.”

Nick steps a bit closer back to Harry to run his fingers through Harry’s curls. He can’t say he has any regrets about getting pulled into this particular broom closet, but he does feel a bit bad for getting Harry this riled up before a work event. Even if the little minx had lured him there.

“D’you want to go?” Harry looks up at Nick hopefully. “I have to, there’s so much bullshit networking at these things, so it might be a bit boring, but–”       

“I probably shouldn’t,” Nick says regretfully, petting Harry’s hair. “I don’t want to distract you, that bullshit tends to actually matter in my experience. And I’ve got meetings before work tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Harry says, disappointment writ large on his face. “Right, well–”

“But maybe, um,” Nick starts, his heart thumping wildly, “maybe we should stop leaving this to chance, yeah? Set a proper date?”

“A proper date?” Harry asks, confidence returning in the form of a trademark cocky grin on his truly  _ stupidly pretty _ face. “You going to wine and dine me then? Woo me proper?”

“Yes, love,” Nicks answers, pulling his phone out. “Here, put your number in. I don’t expect you to have your diary handy in that outfit, so I’ll text you and we’ll set a time.”

Harry pokes the tip of his tongue through his teeth as he enters his phone number. Nick watches him silently, finding it oddly mesmerizing.

“I know I’m out town for a few days this week,” Harry says as he hands the phone back. “On a shoot up north. We could grab a bite before, or after I’m back if you’d rather–”

“Before,” Nick says firmly, for once wanting a prospective date to know how keen he is. “Before. I’ll move things around if I have to.”

“Before,” Harry grins. “Before. Okay. Text me.”

“I will, I promise,” Nick replies, reaching around Harry to pull at the doorknob. “Come on now, you’ve got a fancy party to go to and I’ve made plans with my bed.”

Nick cackles as Harry groans, pushing him through the door. It’s his own fault for starting something he couldn’t finish.

*

Nick is late.

Not terribly so, but enough to have him rushing from the car up through Shoreditch House to the fifth floor, where he’s meeting Harry for dinner. It had taken an age for him to leave work, caught up in a discussion turned impromptu meeting, with Fiona sat next to him blatantly Googling every possible combination of Nick’s name and “dating,” “married,” “husband” and so on and so on. 

Honestly, can he live?

Nick distracts himself from the distress of how slow the lift is running by checking himself out in the mirrored door. After deciding one of his own Topman jumpers might be a bit wanky for a first date (albeit one where he’s already had his tongue down the lad’s throat), he’d gotten dressed that morning in ripped jeans, Converse and his Coach dinosaur jumper, thinking Harry might appreciate the whimsy of it. His hair’s a bit of alright. Nothing he can do now about the freckles. 

Right then.

Everything fades away once he strides into the restaurant and sees Harry waiting for him at a two-person table. Nick ignores the hostess and the rest of his surroundings completely as he beelines toward him, only having eyes for Harry, his growing smile and his twinkling eyes and his curly hair and–

“Hullo.”

And his deep, soothing voice. Nick’s stress officially melts away as Harry stands to greet him, his long arms ensnaring him in a hug, a kiss pressed to his cheek. Harry pulls back after a minute, and pats the dinosaur on Nick’s chest. Nick is oddly mesmerized watching Harry’s hand and when it stills, he looks up to see Harry looking at him expectantly.

“Oh, hello.” Smooth, Nicholas. Very smooth. 

Harry smirks at him as they sit down. 

“So,” Nick starts a bit stupidly. He flounders for the rest of the sentence, nothing coming to him, and Harry just lets him, sitting back and grinning. 

His reprieve comes in the form of a waiter with menus and water glasses. Nick can’t take his eyes off of Harry during the spiel about Curry Tuesday options; how can he be expected to pay proper attention when his date’s got on a see-through blouse? Nick can make out the dark outline of at least one large tattoo beneath the silky white fabric and he’s quite sure he spots another when Harry adjusts the tie at his throat. There’s a design on the fabric, not floral, is that pineapples? Nick intends to get a closer look later.

“And for you, sir?”

Nick rips his eyes away from Harry’s chest to look up at the officious water dumbly. “Sorry?”

“What are you going to order, Nick?” Harry asks with a knowing grin. “I’m getting the chicken marsala, what d’you want?”

“Oh, right,” Nick says, looking from Harry to the waiter, holding up the unopened menu. “Lamb dhansak, please. And can we have a bottle of the Chablis for the table?”

“Certainly, sir,” the waiters answers as he scribbles on his notepad before collecting their menus. “I’ll have that out in a moment. And are you quite sure I can’t interest you in a starter?”

“No,” Harry answers regretfully. He looks over to Nick. “Unless you want something? Can’t, ’m working this week.”

Nick will be damned if he’s going to stuff his face with an appetizer all by himself in front of that see-through blouse and the fit professional model in it, so he shakes his head no and the waiter nods, leaving to put their order in. 

“So you’ve been here before then?” Harry asks before taking a sip of water. “You a member?”

“Yeah, for a few years now,” Nick answers, trying to think of just the right self-deprecating remark to throw out so Harry knows he enjoys luxuries like members-only private clubs but doesn’t take himself too seriously.

“Sick,” Harry comments agreeably, most likely not judging Nick’s lifestyle despite his paranoia. Nick watches his face as he looks curiously around the dining room. “I really like the feel of it, hope the food’s as good as the decor.”

Nick figures in for a penny, in for a pound when Harry’s gaze finally lands back on him.

“I can’t really see it,” he says quietly. “I’ve only got eyes for you.” 

Harry’s face softens and he reaches his long fingers across the table for Nick’s hand.

“Nick–”

“Alright, gents,” the waiter interrupts with a flourish. He holds up the bottle of wine that Nick ordered, asking, “Now is this to your liking?”

“Yes,” Nick snaps, irrationally irritated with the man for his prompt service. “Yes, perfect, thanks!”

“It looks perfect,” Harry agrees politely, looking at the waiter with sympathy. “Thank you.”

Chagrined, Nick forces himself to smile up at the waiter, who must have given them his name at some point while Nick was distracted by Harry’s blouse. Oh, well. Nick will just have to tip a little more generously than usual tonight. Finally, the man finishes opening the bottle and filling their glasses and mercifully stalks off to interrupt someone else’s romantic moment.

Harry raises his glass and Nick clinks his against it as they both “cheers” softly. After taking a sip, Harry raises his eyebrows, considering his glass.

“That’s really good,” he declares before looking up at Nick, impressed.

Nick fights the urge to say something inane like, “stick with me, kid,” and nods in agreement. 

“It’ll pair well with the food,” he says after a long pause. Still pretty inane, but at least he didn’t call his date “kid.” Time to settle something once and for all, though, despite the rather obvious non sequitur. “Do you mind if I ask, how old are you, love?”

Harry bats his eyelashes, grinning like he knows exactly what Nick is thinking. So far it seems like he usually does.

“I’m 24,” he replies, petting at the hand Nick still has reached across the table. “That okay?”

And Nick thinks it might just be. Ideally their age gap would be a little closer to five years than ten, but it’s not the end of the world. At 24, Harry’s young but a proper adult, perfectly capable of turning Nick down if he wanted to. Alright then.   

“Yeah,” Nick says, turning his hand over so that he’s holding Harry’s in his. “That’s okay. Course, I’m a bit older–” 

“I like that you’re older,” Harry interrupts with a wolfish grin. “It’s hot.”

“Oh, god,” Nick groans, setting his wine glass down to cover his face with the hand not wrapped in Harry’s. “Please don’t tell me you have some kind of age fetish or summat.”

And despite the hand flung across his face, Nick doesn’t miss the slight pink of Harry’s cheeks at the word “fetish.”

“No,” Harry insists, leaning forward earnestly. “It’s not that, it’s just you. I like that you’re older and I think it’s hot because it’s you.” 

“Oh,” Nick says rather stupidly. “Oh. Alright then.”

“Alright then,” Harry parrots wickedly, squeezing Nick’s hand.

“Alright then,” Nick repeats, casting about for a topic he can emotionally handle at the moment. “Alright. Um… modeling. Is that what you always wanted to do? Model for Gucci with assorted fowl?”

“Yeah, working with fowl was always the goal,” Harry deadpans before cracking a grin. He starts doing that thing again, that rubbing his thumb over Nick’s knuckle thing again, which Nick didn’t even know was a thing for him. Until Harry. “Erm, I think I always knew I wanted to do something in fashion, but it took a little while to figure out modeling.”

“Well, you already know you have the figure for it,” Nick says, picking up his glass to raise in toast to Harry’s lithe frame. “But go on.”

“Well, I’m from kind of a small village,” Harry says slowly, brow furrowed, concentrating on choosing his words carefully from the looks of it. “And I felt different a lot of the time, you know? From everyone else. Anyway, when I was old enough, I started taking the train into Manchester, buying my own clothes, and it, like… it made a difference? In the right clothes, I felt more, just, in my own skin, I guess. If that makes sense.”

“It does, love,” Nick answer softly, not wanting to disrupt the moment but needing to reassure Harry that he does indeed know exactly what he’s talking about.

“Yeah?” Harry smiles shyly, eyes flickering up to meet Nick’s. 

“Yeah,” Nick says firmly.

Harry takes a sip of wine, toying with Nick’s fingers. 

“Tell me more,” Nick encourages. “How’d you find your way from clothes shopping to modeling, then? Full story, come on. I want to know, like, everything about you really.”

“Right, okay,” Harry starts, running his free hand through his hair. He looks like he’s trying to remember where he left off. Nick immediately grows quite attached to the little wrinkle between his brows. “Um, I started buying mags, too, I’d save up for as many Vogues as I could get my hands on, just to, like, see what was out there, in the world, you know? And then I kind of went from studying the clothes in the photos to studying the actual photos, and I’d try to figure out, right, what is this one trying to  _ say? _ I could spend hours going through just one issue. And then I’d copy the poses in front of the mirror–”

“Of course you did,” Nick says, smiling into his wine glass. “Christ, that sounds adorable, do you have photos?”

“No,” Harry laughs, shaking his head. “No, absolutely not, they’re too embarrassing. My older sister always threatens to post them online when I annoy her.”

“I think I’m going to like this sister of yours,” Nick says easily before freezing. Wait. “I mean, um–”

“Wanting to meet the families, already?” Harry asks, confident grin firmly back in place. Nick’s heart clenches.

“So you’re 24,” Nick states, smoothly bypassing the subject, if he does say so himself. “24, right, so how long have you been working then?”

“Few years now,” Harry answers, mercifully letting Nick off the hook. “I wanted to move straight to London after college, get a shit flat, start banging on doors, but my parents put their foot down, said I had to have something to fall back on, you know?”

“Ah,” Nick smiles knowingly, “yes, that sounds familiar. I wanted to do media studies but mine wouldn’t pay for it unless I did a concentration in business, too.”

“Really?” Harry asks with a shit-eating grin. “And how did that work out for you?”

“Well, we compromised on business and media studies, right?” Nick starts, untangling their hands to top off their wine glasses as he continues, “So I got a first in the communications and media side, but I literally couldn't pass the business studies side. Macro-economics I sat  _ seven _ times. I still don't know what it means. On my sixth resit I got 20%. I was like, ‘Oh. My. God. I'm actually getting worse at it.’”

Harry barks a laugh and Nick sits back, smug, taking in the way Harry’s face contorts almost grotesquely with delight at Nick’s story. This is definitely one of the looks he wants to keeping putting there. 

“So, what did you decide to fall back on, then?” Nick asks as Harry’s laughter dies down.

“Well, they obviously wanted something practical like business,” Harry says, the look on his face one that Nick is coming to recognize as a dead giveaway he’s about to get to some kind of punchline. “So I got off on a technicality doing Fashion Buying and Merchandising at Manchester.”

“Well done, excellent subversion of parental concern, Harold,” Nick replies, pleased at how pleased Harry looks with himself. “So what, once modeling eventually winds down, you’d want to become a buyer, then?”

“Not exactly,” Harry mumbles, studying his wine glass. “Was actually thinking I might like to go into photography?”

“Yeah?” Nick prods at Harry’s hand, trying to get him to look up.

“Yeah,” Harry confirms, glancing up and then back to his glass. “I took a couple of courses in it and I have a beat-up old camera of my own, call her Ophelia–”

“Ophelia,” Nick repeats before he can stop himself. “Ophelia, love that. Classic, just the right amount of drama.”

Finally Harry looks up and holds his gaze.

“Yeah?” he murmurs. “Always liked it for some reason.” 

He resumes toying with Nick’s fingers and honestly if he’s not careful, Nick’s going to be sporting a semi before the main course is served.

“I imagine you get to work with a lot of different photographers,” Nick comments, hoping to get Harry to talk more about himself and also willing his prick to stay soft. “Bet you’ve picked up a lot in a few years.”

“Yeah,” Harry says excitedly, “yeah, I pay close attention, ’m always asking questions when they seem open to it. I figure I can apprentice for a while when I’m ready, ’m just starting to make real money and set some aside, and I’ve made loads of contacts in the industry already.”

“See,” Nick nods. “Told you the bullshit networking tends to matter in the end.”

“Alright, gentlemen, here we are.”

The waiter has returned, this time with a tray loaded with small dishes filled with their entrees, rice, naan and papadums with assorted dips. It looks like enough to feed a small army once the man has deftly arranged it all on their small table, and Harry’s eyes gleam.

“Think I like your taste in restaurants, Nick,” he announces, rubbing his hands together and surveying their feast. 

Nick opts not to confess that he’d chosen it for the flattering lighting as opposed to the food and waves his hand over the table with a simple, “Right, dig in.” 

Harry offers Nick some of his chicken, which he turns down since the creamy sauce doesn’t sit well with him, but he rather suspects that was merely a bribe as Harry spends most of the meal picking food off of Nick’s plates. Nick can only thwart him with a wave of his fork so many times. But the real problem Nick finds, as their meal continues and both the second bottle of wine and conversation flow, isn’t what Harry eats, it’s how he eats.

If Nick thought he was out of danger of getting hard when their food was served, he was dead wrong. Every single bite is prefaced with Harry’s pink tongue darting out beforehand like some kind of sexy frog. It’s mesmerizing and confoundingly arousing. Nick’s never tried to will away an erection before by struggling to remember if frogs are amphibians or reptiles. (He Googles it later: amphibians.)

“That was,” Harry says, sitting back in his chair and patting his annoying flat stomach, “amazing, ’ve never had curry this good.”

“Right, Mr. I’ve Got to Work This Week,” Nick scoffs good-naturedly. “D’you get enough to eat or you want dessert?”

And really, it’s Nick’s own fault for not anticipating the ensuing eye waggle. Ignoring it, he swirls the last of his wine around in his glass before casually asking, “So what are you doing now?”

“’M actually heading up toward Manchester tonight,” Harry says sheepishly. “Shoot got pushed up to tomorrow.”

“Tonight?” Nick exclaims, setting his wine glass down with rather too much force. “Are you mental? Aren’t you going to have to be up at the crack of dawn?”

“Won’t be so bad,” Harry rushes to assure him. “I can fall asleep anywhere so I’ll have a kip on the way, and ’s not the crack of dawn, we’re just starting fittings in the morning.”

“Why on earth didn’t you reschedule dinner?” Nick asks, bewildered. Maybe it’s just his not being a spritely 24-year-old anymore, not for years now, but the idea of leaving for a three-hour trip at the moment is decidedly unappealing.

“Didn’t want to,” Harry says stubbornly with a jut of his chin.

And, oh. Oh, Nick is in trouble. That chin is going to run the rest of his life for as long as Harry wants to be in it, he can already tell.  

“How are you getting there?” Nick changes tacks, not trusting himself to discuss Harry’s reluctance to postpone seeing him for even a few days.

“Don’t take the piss,” Harry warns, pointing a finger at him, “but ’m staying at my parents, so I’m using the per diem for a car service tonight.”

Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. He has to take the piss at least a little.

“And what,” Nick starts, gesturing to Harry’s blouse, “are these your comfy late-night drive clothes?”

Nick’s eyes follow Harry’s hands smooth over the translucent fabric before landing on his nipples. Honestly, the shirt is obscene. They are in  _ public, _ for Christ’s sake.

“I like it,” Harry insists, fussing with the tie again. “’S not uncomfortable, and anyway I was feeling…”

“What, love?” Nick asks softly, trying and failing to drag his eyes away from Harry’s nipples. They have absolutely no business being that… puffy.

“Romantic,” Harry says simply. Nick finally looks up and meets his gaze, his green eyes clear and searching.

“It is that,” Nick agrees mildly. He waves his hand up and down at Harry. “It is romantic, I love it.”

Harry preens, just as Nick hoped he would. It’s a bit soon to fall all over Harry with declarations the way something deep down in Nick’s chest is shouting at him to, so he tries to pull back, but only just a bit.

“I also love how your nipples show through it.”

Well, no one ever said Nick was good at this. Aside from him, but he’s been known to be wrong on occasion. Luckily Harry squawks a laugh, more amused than offput, and it emboldens Nick.

“And I mean the main two up here,” he leans in a little, pointing, “but are you hiding another set down there?”

“Yeah, ’ve got four,” Harry laughs, looking down and pointing them out. “The other two aren’t as sensitive as the main ones, though. Bit ridiculous, really, I should link ’em up with a chain or summat.”

And Harry glances up at Nick, hesitating, like he’s letting Nick decide which direction to take the conversation in. And he could laugh it off, and they could pay the bill and have a nice kiss before arranging their next date, or…  

Or. 

“Is that something you’d be interested in?” Nick asks, hoping he’s striking the right tone between sincere and casual, in case Harry decides for his turn he’d rather laugh it off.

“What, linking ’em up with a chain?” Harry asks, the nerves he’s managing to hide on his face coming through in the slight tremble of his voice.

“Sure, why not?” Nick says seriously. “If you have sensitive nipples, that could be something to try out. If you haven’t yet.”

Harry chews on his lip, his face clouded over. And Nick thinks he gets it, this is awkward to talk about. But there are things he and Harry really shouldn’t do without talking about them first, things Nick would  _ very much like _ to do with Harry, so he can handle the slight discomfort of an awkward conversation over wine if it gives him a chance.

“Listen,” Nick says, reaching across the table to take Harry’s hand in his. “I’ve noticed that you seem to like when I take charge of… things a bit, yeah? And that maybe you like things to, um… hurt? Just a little?”

Harry’s eyes widen almost comically and Nick’s not sure what exactly he’s thinking but he’s not shaking his head or interrupting, so Nick plows ahead.

“And if you are into those things, we can, you know, explore that together. Because I’m completely gone for you, and it’s fucking hot the way it seems like you get off on that stuff, and… yeah. If I’ve gotten it wrong somehow, that’s fine by me, we don’t have to try anything you don’t want to, obviously, but just… talk to me?”

“I’ve never…” Harry replies in a strangled voice. He runs a hand through his hair and huffs a nervous laugh. “I haven’t really, um… no one’s ever… any time the thing about it hurting has come up before, everyone I’ve been with has made me feel like a freak, you know?”

“Oh, love,” Nick says, squeezing Harry’s hand. He’s done some light Googling over the past few days, and wants to maim and dismember anyone who’s made Harry feel like his preferences aren’t perfectly normal. “’S not weird at all, it’s just pain releases a rush of endorphins the same way pleasure does, so some people like a little side of pain with their pleasure. That’s all it is, love, promise.” 

Harry blows out a big breath, his shoulders sagging. Nick feels like kicking himself for not picking up on how tense Harry’s body had been a minute before.

“How’d you first figure it out?” he asks cautiously. “The pain thing, I mean, if you don’t mind my asking.”

“Tattoos,” Harry replies, smiling ruefully. “I always get hard when I get one done. My mate Tom told me it happens to a lot of people, but that I get a little more… carried away than most of his clients.”

“And you’re hiding rather a lot of tattoos, aren’t you, you little minx?” Nick smiles slyly, relieved to see a genuine smile on Harry’s face.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he says coyly, stroking his godforsaken thumb across Nick’s skin. Again.

“Yes, Harold, I think we’re establishing that I would very much like to know,” Nick retorts. He glances up and catches their waiter’s eye, then does that dumb little universal ‘check, please’ hand gesture with the one Harry’s not currently fondling.

Nick retrieves his hands to get his card out; he doesn’t want to waste time that he could be spending with Harry chatting with their obsequious waiter. It only takes a minute for him to arrive with the little folder containing their check and Nick kicks Harry under the table in warning, knowing Harry was about to launch into chit chat just to fuck with him.

Once the man has swanned away, Nick looks back over to Harry who beams back at him. He leans in a little and pokes a finger at Harry’s hand in an outrageously bad attempt to mimic Harry’s stroking.

“Just to be clear, I don’t think you’re weird–well, not for your sexual preferences, anyway–”  

“Hey.”

“–and if there’s ever anything you want to try, we could talk about it and if we’re both into it, give it a go.” Nick looks into Harry’s eager eyes. “Like the nipple thing, I wasn’t taking the piss. Have you ever thought about clamps? I haven’t used them before, but I wouldn’t mind trying. Not with you. Could be well into it, actually.”

“Yeah, um…” Harry stammers, blushing. “That would be um, yeah. Yes. Let’s try that. Yes.”

Nick resists the urge to laugh, on the off chance that Harry would worry it was at and not with him. 

“Alright then,” Nick says, sitting back and taking the last sip of his wine before their waiter returns with the bill for him to sign. He calculates a rather large tip, he still doesn’t know the man’s name after all, as Harry thanks him for a wonderful dining experience. ‘Wonderful dining experience,’ who even says that? How did Nick manage to find such a person?

Harry stands up and shakes the man’s hand, so Nick has no choice but to do the same. He’s tempted to kiss the man on the cheek just to see if Harry would match him, but there’s only one man in this restaurant that Nick wants to put his lips on and it’s not their waiter.

Finally, they make their escape from their table but Nick only gets as far as the hostess stand before Harry tugs him to a stop. Turns out he’d charmed them into holding his carryall for him, so it’s another round of handshakes before Nick can pull him toward the lift. 

Harry’s on him as soon as the lift doors close, crowding into Nick’s space, dropping his bag and kissing him filthily, wet and hot and  _ good. _ Nick grips Harry’s hips, just trying to keep up, immediately overwhelmed.

Harry pulls back, panting, after a few floors and Nick casts a glance up to the corner where he knows the security camera is.

“Honestly, Harold,” Nick chides, soothing his hands up and down Harry’s sides, “what kind of girl do you think I am?”

“I know  _ exactly _ what kind of girl you are,” Harry replies, his deep voice somehow an octave lower, just as there’s a loud  _ ding _ and the lift doors open.

Nick puffs his chest out in faux indignation but he picks up Harry’s bag with one hand as Harry grabs his other and pulls him toward the exit.

“Come on,” Harry laughs, looking back at Nick over his shoulder. “I’ll drop you at home, car should waiting outside.”

The car and driver that Nick still can’t believe Harry arranged, rather than wait a few days to have curry with Nick, are indeed waiting outside. Harry politely greets the driver, conducting introductions and requesting a stop to drop Nick at his. Nick climbs in the back seat after providing his address, but it takes Harry another minute or two to join him.

What Harry could have possibly been discussing with the driver becomes immediately clear when the partition goes up directly after the car starts. Harry lays a hand on Nick’s thigh and when he looks over, Harry is staring at him intensely, biting his lip.

“Yeah?” Harry whispers, inching his hand further up Nick’s leg.

“Yeah,” Nick replies lowly, taking Harry’s face in his hands and looking deeply into his eyes for a moment before attempting to snog the life out of him.

Harry moves his hand up quickly, moaning low in his throat when he finds Nick is half hard already. Pressing soft kisses along Harry’s jaw, Nick works his way to Harry’s ear, whispering directly into it, “Love the noises you make, pet.” He bites at Harry’s earlobe softly as Harry whimpers before resuming his whisper, “But let’s see if you can be quiet for me this time, yeah?”

Harry shudders, his head thrown back and eyes closed, and nods frantically. He starts fumbling with the button on Nick’s jeans as Nick licks at his earlobe before moving down his throat, careful not to leave marks this time. 

“Here, love,” Nick whispers, moving a hand down to undo his own button and flies. “This what you wanted?”

Harry nods again, trying stay quiet for him, and Nick rewards him by undoing his trousers as well. He frees Harry’s cock and strokes it a couple of times, swiping his thumb over the wet head.

“So hard for me already, love,” Nick praises, looking from Harry’s cock in his hand up to Harry’s face. Harry’s biting his lip, looking a bit desperate. “What is it, d’you want to say something, love? Go on.”

“’M so hard,” Harry whines, moving to hide his head in Nick’s neck, thrusting up into Nick’s hand. He breathes heavily against Nick’s skin, “Been hard since you started talking about  _ trying things _ together.”

Nick moves his hand up to Harry’s face, tilting his head just so and slotting their lips together. He can’t get enough of Harry’s pink tongue, the one that had teased him all through their meal, sliding eagerly against his own.

Harry tentatively wraps a hand around Nick’s cock, like he wasn’t sure he’d had permission before, and Nick is surprised at how much he gets off on that idea. That’s definitely going on the list of things to see if they’re both into, then.

He slows their heated snogging ’til it’s just him pecking at Harry’s slack mouth, and moves his hand to pull the tie at Harry’s neck loose.

“This alright?” he asks into Harry’s ear, and Harry nods. He’s still working his hand over Nick, but cautiously, almost timidly, and he’s being so quiet. “Good boy.”

Even in the dark car, with just flashes of streetlamps illuminating the gorgeous view in front of him, Nick can see the flush bloom across Harry’s face and neck. Nick makes quick work of unbuttoning Harry’s blouse all the way, formulating a plan.

“Can you wank us off at the same time, love?” Nick whispers. “Want to try something.”

Harry’s nod is frantic this time, the slightest whimper escaping his mouth before he bites his lip again and takes both of them in his usefully large hand. Nick groans quietly into Harry’s ear, biting the lobe again and delighting in Harry’s shiver.

Harry’s hand feels so good on him, steady and sure now, and combined with the heat of their cocks against each other, Harry is going to finish him off rather quickly, so Nick hurries to skitter his hand up Harry’s torso to take Harry’s nipple between his fingers. He caresses it with his fingertips at first, then pinches. Harry strokes at their cocks more firmly and Nick wishes this position were a little less awkward so he could get his other hand, or his mouth for that matter, on Harry’s other nipple. 

Bending his head down, Nick presses a few kisses to Harry’s neck before whispering in his ear, “Doing so well for me, love, gonna come all over you, all over my good boy.”

He twists Harry’s nipple slightly harder, and Harry comes all over his hand. He keeps stroking as he shudders through his own aftershocks, his come giving a heavenly slide to his hot hand over Nick’s cock and Nick is pushed over the edge, his cock pulsing as he comes in thick streaks, adding to the mess. Their mess.

“Fucking hell, Harry,” Nick breathes, taking in the sight of their softening cocks lying in Harry’s hand, Harry’s bare chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath, the passing lights dancing over his pale skin. “That was… you’re incredible.”

“Pocket,” Harry says nonsensically, smiling softly at him.

“Pocket? You’re incredible and I’m somehow pocket?” Nick teases, smoothing one of Harry’s wayward curls off his face. “Alright, I see how it is, just toss me at the next corner then, why don’t you?”

“No,” Harry giggles, “pocket, look in my pocket.”

Harry swivels his hips so Nick can reach and, despite not having a clue what Harry’s on about, Nick moves his hand to the pocket. Harry giggles again at what Nick must assume is the rather stupid face he makes when he pulls a cloth napkin out of the pocket of Harry’s trousers.

“Harold Styles,” Nick says accusingly. “Did you steal a napkin from the restaurant for the express purpose of cleaning up our spunk in the car?”

“Guilty,” Harry says shamelessly. God, he looks so happy. Happy and covered in come.

“You’re a menace,” Nick declares, as he wipes them off. Harry raises his hand to his own lips and starts to lick some of the mess off his fingers before Nick has a chance to get to them. “An absolute menace.”

“But you wouldn’t have me any other way,” Harry says innocently, licking at his palm now. “Right?”

“Right,” Nick concedes, taking Harry’s hand and wiping the rest of the come off of it with the last clean corner of the napkin. What a pair they make. 

Nick tosses the dirty napkin to the floor of the car, that can be Harry’s problem to dispose of since it was his plan, and tucks himself back into his jeans, zipping and buttoning up. Harry watches avidly, looking like sin, all draped across the seat wanton and undone. 

Nick tenderly redresses him, pressing soft kisses to his face and hair. He’s the one already clothed, but he feels exposed in a way he usually avoids, especially this early on seeing someone. Looking into Harry’s open, trusting face, though, he’s not bothered.

The car slows to a stop after a few minutes of holding Harry close and petting at his unruly but soft hair, and Nick regretfully sits up straight.

“Can I walk you to your door?” Harry asks shyly.

Nick racks his brain, but he can’t think of another time he’s been asked that question. Warmth spreads through his chest as he nods, finding himself a bit unable to speak.

Unfortunately, the path to Nick’s door isn’t very long and he can hear the dogs barking and scratching at the door inside. He looks at Harry, who’s standing silently in front of him, practically glowing. If Nick were a poetic man, he’d be spouting off about stardust, but he’s not so he’s absolutely not thinking anything like that.

“Text me when you get in,” Nick says quietly. “Don’t care what time it is, alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, a grin spreading across his face. “And I’ll just… text you when I can, too, alright? On breaks and stuff?”

“I’d like that,” Nick admits, taking one of Harry’s hands and squeezing it. “Calls too, if you had time. And let me know when you’re back, I, um… I’ll want to see you.”

“I’ll want to see you, too,” Harry says, stroking his thumb over Nick’s knuckle. The gesture is soothing this time, as opposed to Harry’s usual foreplay, and Nick still feels oddly vulnerable, but reassured.

“Okay, yeah, good,” Nick nods as smoothly as he can. “Good night, then.”

Harry leans in and kisses him softly. “Good night.”

And with one last squeeze of his hand, he’s off. Nick watches him saunter back to the car, quite sure Harry is swinging his hips for Nick’s benefit. He shakes his head, turning to unlock the door.

A menace, that’s what he is.

*

Nick is no prude. He’s made ample use of his thirty-mumble-mumble years on the planet, especially once the baby fat started to melt away, and he fully plans on continuing to do so. With gusto. 

But standing in front of the wall of nipple clamp options in a sex shop in Soho on a sunny weekday afternoon, his hand moves unbidden to clutch at an imaginary strand of pearls. He’s never paid attention to this corner before, never having a particular use for it before, and it’s all a bit… overwhelming.

“Hello there!” The saleswoman who’s suddenly appeared at his elbow chirps. “Can I help you find something?”

“Erm,” Nick clears his throat, looking the shelves up and down again. He’s not a blushing virgin; he’s been in sex shops before – he’s been in  _ this _ sex shop before – but something about making this purchase, with the intent to use it with Harry, makes him feel nervous, out of his element.

“As you can see,” the woman continues seamlessly, most likely used to awkward customers, “we have quite a lot of clamps, with a range of sizes and options. Are you looking for something for yourself? To use with a partner?”

“With my boy–” Nick cuts himself off. It’s too soon to say boyfriend, they haven’t even talked about talking about labels yet. “Friend.” 

Oh fucking hell. He gives up.

“My boyfriend,” he repeats, a bit more surely this time. As long as Nick doesn’t cock it up, they seem to be heading that way. They will if he has anything to say about it. “For him to wear. But this seems like the, um… advanced stuff? With the, ah, collars and all? Was hoping to find something a bit more for beginners.”

“Oh, lovely, first time?” The saleswoman reaches for a box off a shelf sounding for all the world like Nick is talking about high tea or summat. “These are what I recommend to start, not too scary, yeah?”

Nick nods along as he watches her swiftly open the box to show him the admittedly not scary clamps. They’re not too big, and she points out the soft pads first, explaining where to place them on the nipple after priming it first with his fingers or mouth to make sure it’s erect. 

Jesus.

“Now, see, this is where you adjust them,” she instructs, demonstrating on her fingertip. “Just twist this screw here and this is how I would do it first, on your finger, but you can also adjust either way once they’re on, if they’re too tight or if your boyfriend needs more stimulation.”

Nick’s cock twitches and he fakes a cough like that’s going to do anything to prevent this perfectly nice, incredibly helpful woman from noticing. He nods again, making a show of furrowing his brows in concentration.

“Now for beginners,” she continues professionally, “I recommend using them for only about ten minutes at a time. Nipples are like snowflakes, or fingerprints–”

Suddenly Nick wishes he’d brought Harry along for the shopping trip instead of planning a surprise for him; he can only  _ imagine _ Harry’s face on hearing that.

“–even the two on the same person can be different, and things like the temperature of the room or how aroused you are can factor into how the clamps will feel, you see?” she pauses her speech, looking up from the clamps and box in her hands to see if Nick’s listening and he nods seriously again. “So I recommend starting with ten minutes and seeing how it goes. Some people report feeling the sensitivity for an hour or two afterward, some people say a full day afterward, so it’s best to start slow and figure out what kind of person you are before you get into using them heavily.”

“What about, erm,” Nick starts awkwardly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

“Taking them off?” the saleswoman supplies cheerfully. Nick nods again, wondering when exactly he got so embarrassing. “Excellent question, love, I can tell your boyfriend is in good hands. Be careful, gentle really, taking them off because it actually causes more pain than when you put them on; that’s when the blood all comes rushing back. You might want to try doing one, letting your boyfriend ride out the sensation, then moving to the other.” 

“Thank you,” Nick says sincerely. He’s not sure all of that’s on the back of the box, and he wants to treat Harry with the care he deserves. “I really appreciate your help. I’ll take them.”

“Wonderful!” she replies, slipping the clamps back into the box and turning toward the counter. “I’ll ring you up. Need anything else? We have a new brand of lube–”

“No, not today,” Nick interrupts, following her. “Just the, ehm, clamps.”

“Oh, forgot to mention,” she says brightly, rounding the corner to stop behind the counter and looking up to wink at him, “the chain is slightly weighted.”

“Oh, so, um,” Nick stumbles, reaching for his wallet to cover his self-consciousness.

“So depending on the position,” she picks up seamlessly, ringing him up and getting a plain bag for the nipple clamps box, “there’s still stimulation, but of course you can add to it by tugging the chain lightly.”

Nick coughs again, handing over his card, and somehow manages to finish the transaction and exit the shop with his head held high and his dick still soft. Stopping at the corner, wishing he kept cigarettes with him during the day and not just for big nights out, he requests a car. Before he has a chance to distract himself with Instagram (Harry’s page has proven to be endlessly entertaining), a call comes through from the man himself.

“Harold,” Nick says grandly as he answers the call, “were your nipples burning?”

“What?” The bewildered, melodious deep voice is music to Nick’s ears.

“Nothing, nothing,” he answers. “How are ya? Shoot going well?”

“Yeah, great,” Harry replies happily. “’M a bit tired, but–”

“But that’s your own fault for being so keen to dine with me the other night, yeah?” 

“Yes, Nicholas,” Harry says dutifully, as he has each time they’ve spoken since their date. Nick suddenly realizes they’ve spoken rather a lot, and a wave of fondness crashes over him.

“I hope you’re getting your beauty sleep,” Nick clucks affectionately. “Don’t want them chucking you out halfway through.”

Nick can hear someone calling for Harry on the other end of the line as his car pulls up. He walks over and gets in, nodding to the driver, and says to Harry, “You better be off. Call me later?”

“I will,” Harry promises. “And I’m still back on Saturday night, so I can come ’round Sunday if you’re still up for it?”

“Oh, I’m up for it,” Nick laughs. “Can you wear that plaid suit from your Instagram a few weeks ago? You know the one, pink, looks like it’s made from tea towels?”

“Tea towel suit, no pants, got it,” Harry replies, cheeky as ever. “Okay, I’m off.”

“Bye, bye, bye, bye.” 

Nick discreetly opens the brown paper bag in his lap and considers the photo on the front of the box. He knows he made the right choice, that the saleswoman’s recommendation was spot on, but something is nagging at him, making him feel like they’re not quite perfect for Harry. Looking at the photo, it hits him like a ton of bricks. 

They’re not  _ pretty. _

The simple black clamps and silver chain just look so… functional. And now that he thinks of it, maybe that was partly what felt wrong about the wall of considerable options; they were all so utilitarian. Nick looks down at the box again. No, this simply won’t do. 

He selects a number from his favorites and watches out the car window, waiting for the greeting that only takes a minute to come.

“Henry, darling! I need a favor,” Nick says. “But you can’t laugh.”

*

Henry had laughed. Quite a lot actually. But he’d also promised to see what he could do, so Nick doesn’t hold it against him. Knowing himself, he would have gleefully joined in if it had been someone else. 

Now if Henry would just hurry his arse up and deliver, Nick could relax.

Reaching into the cabinet in front of him, Nick grabs a couple more wine glasses to set out; he’s not sure how many people are coming over for X Factor tonight, but best to be prepared. He picks up his phone to check (again) to see how long before they start to arrive. He’s not too keen on Henry having the opportunity to present the nipple clamps in front of a group, but Harry’s coming over  _ tomorrow _ so Nick will suffer the indignity if he can just get his hands on them again in time.

“Hiya, darling!” Aimee’s voice floats in from the front hall mixed in with barks and grunts of welcome from the dogs. Not who Nick was hoping would arrive first; he’s been ducking her calls a bit, wanting to keep Harry all to himself for awhile, but he should have known she’d corner him eventually.

“Well, hello stranger,” she says triumphantly as she enters the kitchen looking suspiciously pleased with herself. “Long time, no see.”

“What are you on about?” Nick blusters confidently. “We see each other all the time, lack of sleep must be getting to you.”

“Or you fancy a boy rotten and you’re trying to keep him all to yourself,” Aimee retorts. “Pour me a glass of white, will you? I have something for you in my bag, just need to fish it out.”

Nick dutifully pours his best friend a glass of wine while she roots through her comically large handbag looking for whatever instrument of torture is hiding in there. Or maybe he’s getting a bit cynical in his old age, she could have just gotten him a pressie–

“Aha! Here it is,” she declares, looking up with a dangerous gleam in her eye. She holds up a plain brown paper bag. Oh, bugger all. “Henry asked me to give this to you.”

“Did he now?” Nick asks, decidedly casually, pushing her glass of wine across the counter. “Wonder what it is; here, hand it over.”

“Not so fast, Grimshaw,” Aimee counters, holding the bag up. “He said to tell you thanks for the inspiration, he’s going to call his new line ‘kink, but make it fashion.’ Any idea why?”

“None in the world,” Nick replies, reaching for the bag as Aimee takes a few steps back.

“Fuck’s sake, Nick, I know what’s in the bag,” she says, exasperated from the sound of it. “What I don’t know is why Henry knows all about you and this  _ Harry _ and I don’t. Fucking talk to me.”

“Yeah, alright,” Nick sighs, dropping his hand and leaning against the counter. “I’m sorry, it’s just… I dunno, it’s different with him. It’s soon, but I can just tell he’s different and he might actually want to stay around for awhile–”

“Aw, babes,” Aimee coos, stepping forward to pat his arm. “You do fancy him rotten, don’t you?”

“I called him my boyfriend to the saleswoman in the sex shop,” Nick confesses, unable to meet her eyes. “I’m so fucked.”

“I bet you’re not,” Aimee soothes him. “If he feels different to you, I think you should trust that. What is it? What do you fancy about him? Besides what’s in the bag.”

“Um, well,” Nick hesitates until he sees the determined face Aimee’s set on him. Right then, not getting out of this one. “So, Harry. He’s, um, really silly and we laugh loads. He can, like, keep up with me, doesn’t get offended when I take the piss. And he is quite deep, I want to know what he thinks about, like, everything. I feel like I could hang out with him all day and not get bored of him. I can… I can be myself with him.”  

Aimee rubs his back, but doesn’t say anything. She can always tell when he’s holding back.

“He makes me all… sincere,” Nick groans, throwing his hands up. “I have no idea what I’m doing! This is so unlike me.”

“I think that’s a good thing,” Aimee says pointedly, clinking her glass against his.

Nick had thought that was everything but Aimee’s just watching him, waiting, and he realizes he’s not quite done baring his soul.

“I want to…” Nick whimpers, hiding his face in his hands. She gently pulls his hands away and puts a wine glass in one, nodding at him to continue. “I want to, like, take care of him. He makes me feel protective.”

“That’s lovely, Grim,” Aimee says finally. “I’m happy for you. But I’ll cut your bollocks off if you shut me out again, got it?”

“Christ, alright,” Nick says, his laughter choking off when she doesn’t join in. 

“So,” Aimee says, eyeing the brown paper bag, “can we open it?”

There’s no point protesting, she’s not going to let him get away with it, so he gives in and nods, holding his hand out. She must trust him because she hands it right over, and he pulls the box out. 

“Christ’s sake, Nicholas, hurry up,” Aimee whines. “I’ve been dying to get a peek but I waited for you because of, like, boundaries and all.”

“Oh, yes,” Nick says drily, “boundaries, you famously respect them.”

He opens the box before she stoops to ripping it out of his hands and pulls out the nipple clamps. Henry hadn’t taken them apart to replace the black clamps or chain, having explained to Nick that he didn’t want to cock up the functionality of them, but he had added small bows just below each clamp. As Aimee “ooh”s, Nick fingers the soft, buttery leather. It’s pale pink and perfectly Harry. 

Honestly what’s become of Nick, about to cry in his kitchen over a pair of nipple clamps? 

“I love them,” Aimee declares. “And I’ve been stalking his Instagram, I think he’ll love them too.”

Nick squawks indignantly but Aimee just slaps his arse, commands him to “get in” with a wink, and leaves with her wine glass for the sitting room.

Nick runs a fingertip over one of the bows again, shivers a little thinking about the next day, and heads toward his bedroom. No way he’s leaving these in the kitchen, not with a gaggle of nosy friends about to arrive.

Once the box is safely in his bedside table, Nick heads back out, sure he’s heard Alexa arrive, and pulls out his phone to fire off a quick text to Harry.

_ Got a bit of a surprise for you tomorrow, looking forward to it love _

*

The bell rings just as Nick pulls the roast out of the oven. He quickly sets the pan down with the rest of the dishes lining the counter and follows the dogs running and barking like mad to let Harry in. 

“Excuse me, pardon, coming through,” he says aloud as he winds his way through the wriggling bodies of his ridiculous dogs in the noisy hallway, grateful to Harry for potentially saving him from a life of spinsterhood spent making conversations with them. 

Nick manages to reach the front door without tripping over anyone and pulls it open. Harry stands on the other side, looking beautiful but knackered, maybe a little pale. Nick wants to cuddle him ridiculously, but Harry crouches down before Nick can get his hands on him.

“Hullo, ’m Harry.”

The dogs are all over him, sniffing rather invasively if Nick does say so himself before Pig attempts to snog Harry while he shakes one of Stinky’s paws. 

“Excellent manners, Harold,” Nick says, rolling his eyes and tugging at Harry to stand up. “Master Stinky and Miss Pig are delighted to make your acquaintance. But perhaps next time I could snog you before one of them gets the chance to?”

“Oh, did you want to snog me?” Harry asks, eyes sparkling mischievously. “Thought you were going to make me dinner first?”

“Yeah, alright,” Nick replies, waving him farther in so he can shut the door. “Tea’s on table in a minute, come on.”

He motions for Harry to follow him down the hall to the kitchen, shaking his head at the sounds of Harry inquiring how his dogs’ days were. 

“What can I get you to drink?” he asks over his shoulder, giving the veg one last stir. “I’ve got wine, there’s beer if we’re feeling laddy, tea.”

“Tea, please,” Harry replies softly. He’s much closer than Nick thought, coming up behind him and resting his chin on Nick’s shoulder and his unfairly large hands on Nick’s hips. Nick turns his head and presses a kiss to Harry’s temple before turning back to assess the pan in front of him. Everything appears to be ready. 

“No problem, love,” he says, gently displacing Harry’s hands and turning to face him. Harry wraps him in a real hug the second he can and Nick just holds him for a minute. “Come on, then. I’ll make the tea and you can dish out our plates, yeah? Put enough on yours so you don’t have to steal from mine.”

Harry snickers into Nick’s neck before pulling back and releasing him from his grip. He finds their plates set out on the island and hums to himself as he heaps food onto them. Nick watches out of the corner of his eye as he brews their tea, satisfied that Harry’s face looks a little brighter than it did when he first arrived. 

“Thought we could eat in here,” Nick says, carrying their mugs to where Harry’s seated at the counter waiting for him. “Then maybe after we can watch a film?” 

“What about my surprise?” Harry pouts. It’s ridiculous. Nick loves it.

“That’s for after the film,” Nick says mildly, starting to cut his slice of roast. “How was yesterday, the last bit of the setup go alright?”

They sit and eat and talk and the time flies so fast that Nick barely notices the sky darkening outside. Harry tells Nick all about the photo shoot and his visit with his mum, which leads to a tangent about their favorite spots in Manchester. Nick tells Harry the bits about the afternoon shows that week that hadn’t made it into their phone calls and the set design course he’s starting in a few days.

“That’s ace, Nick,” Harry remarks after taking a bite. Nick is getting to used to his sticking his tongue out each time. At least that’s what he tells himself. “I’m like proper impressed over here.”

“I’m bricking it,” Nick admits, laughing. “But I’ve been thinking about it for a long time and I kind of can’t wait to get started really. My mum sent me an old Spice Girls notebook that I’d hardly used any pages of in school, so I’m sure I’ll make friends quickly.”

“Can’t go wrong with Spice Girls,” Harry says sagely. He pokes his tongue out before a bite (again) and then chews thoughtfully before continuing, “I remember you saying you wanted to get a better look at that backdrop at Charles Jeffrey before we lost track of each other. That’s why, that’s something you want to do?”

“Yeah, I’ve always been interested, thought I might go that way before radio started to work out,” Nick explains. “It’s weird, so you get your dream job, right? But then that’s not it, ’cause it’s something that’s not meant to last forever. Breakfast was all I wanted and it was all I worked toward for years, but it’s not meant to be the only thing a person does for the rest of their life, right? And I had to start thinking awhile ago, like what’s next? ’Cause there’s gonna have to be a next.” 

Harry nods earnestly and Nick feels settled in the way you only can when you know the person you’re talking to knows exactly what you mean.

“And I tried different things on, X Factor, Topman,” he continues, “and I want to keep doing stuff like that, but this course, it feels kind of like what I imagine photography does to you. Creating something lasting, you know?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, inching closer into Nick’s space. “Yeah, exactly.”

“So,” Nick murmurs, looking into Harry’s eyes. “I made you dinner.”

“You did,” Harry nods seriously, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile. “You going to snog me now?”

And Nick does want to kiss him, so he leans in and presses his lips softly but firmly to Harry’s. It’s still early yet, so he doesn’t try to take it any further than that and it’s just nice is what it is, sharing quiet kisses with someone he cares about rather a lot in his kitchen on a late Sunday afternoon. It’s something he’s wanted deep down for a long time, despite all his loud protests to the contrary.

He pulls back after a couple of minutes, but stays in Harry’s space. Harry smiles lazily up at him and Nick loves him like this, all peaceful and relaxed and happy. Harry leans in and kisses his nose at the exact moment Nick realizes he was just thinking a certain four-letter word and somehow he doesn’t panic. He doesn’t push Harry away or loudly make the wrong joke. He just leans in and gently bites Harry’s nose and asks, “Can you help me wash up, love? Then you can pick the film,” like he’s some kind of domesticated love god and maybe he  _ is, _ because Harry lights up.

They work in tandem clearing up the mess in the kitchen, and Nick is relieved that Harry seems as pleased as he is when the kitchen is spotless and the food’s all put away. Harry pulls him into the sitting room and plops down on the couch like he belongs there. (Maybe he does.) Nick settles next to him and hands over the remote, watching as Harry boots up Netflix and immediately scrolls to the romantic comedies.

“What are you looking for, something in particular?” Nick asks, toying with the strands of Harry’s curls as Harry leans against him.

“Just want something I’ve seen before,” Harry murmurs, concentrating. “I like to know what’s gonna happen, ’s like ‘alright, everything’s okay, ’m safe here.’”

“Why is  _ Pretty Woman _ in this category?” Nick wonders aloud. 

“That’s a great film,” Harry argues, looking at Nick over his shoulder. “It’s underrated.”

“No,  _ Pretty Woman _ isn’t underrated, love, it’s pretty rated,” Nick counters. “And it’s amazing, just not really a romantic comedy, is it?”

“Got the rom but not the com, eh?” Harry peeks over at Nick, so proud of himself, and Nick feels desperately, uncontrollably soppy. If he’s not careful, he’ll be reduced to a pile of goo. 

“I mean, it’s got some com,” Nick says thoughtfully, fighting his eventual dissolve into goo form. “But with the rom, does it equal rom com?”

“’S like when is a rom com more than the sum of its parts?” Harry drawls, flicking through titles.

“Exactly, Harold,” Nick agrees, looking back up the telly where Harry lands on  _ When Harry Met Sally _ and presses play, sighing contentedly. 

The plain brown paper bag is glowing like a beacon to Nick from the side table where he’d set it earlier in the afternoon, but Harry doesn’t notice anything amiss as he snuggles into Nick’s side, arranging Nick’s arm around him just how he wants it. 

Nick lets Harry have his way with him, might as well get used to it now, and settles in for the duration, wishing he could check the running time on his phone. That would mean disrupting (his) Harry draped all over him though and, well, no one wants that, least of all Nick. He contents himself with toying with Harry’s curls and drinking in Harry’s appearance while he’s otherwise occupied.

Harry’s wearing a ridiculous pair of white Gucci loafers that would look more at home on a golf course than in Nick’s sitting room, paired with pink socks. His long legs are covered in loose purple trousers, velour from the looks of them (but maybe Nick should touch, just to be sure). Harry’s body must just run warm, Nick hasn’t seen him in a coat yet, and he’d shown up today in just a plain white t-shirt, no jumper or anything. Taking the body parts currently pressed up against him as confirmation, Nick runs his fingers lightly along Harry’s arm.

They’re not really in the right position for hand holding but, as the music from the film swells in the background, Nick is aching to take one of Harry’s hands in his. It’s not so much wanting to grasp one of Harry’s large paws (although Nick does want), it’s the chipped black varnish covering most of his fingernails. Nick knows from the selfies that he’d forced Harry to send that it’s not from the shoot; Harry must have painted (and then artfully chipped) them himself somewhere in the meantime. 

Nick can only try to smother the ridiculous urge to kiss the painted nails for so long. Harry barks a laugh at something film Harry is doing, Nick has no idea what, and moves a hand to cover his mouth. Spotting his opportunity, Nick carefully takes Harry’s hand in his and lifts it to his mouth, pressing his lips against the fingernails for a long moment.

Looking over to Harry, who exhales a breath Nick hadn’t realized he was holding, he lowers their hands to his lap, keeping his somewhat awkward hold on Harry’s. 

“Nick,” Harry whispers.

“Watch the film, love,” Nick says softly, looking at the telly. Guilt rips through his chest, but Harry is so much, all the time, and Nick simply hasn’t built up any immunity to it yet. This quiet moment turns out to be the one that manages to just tip the scales of overwhelming for him. “A classic, yeah?”

He rubs his thumb over Harry’s knuckle and pulls him a little bit closer with the arm draped around his shoulder, momentarily surprised it’s even possible for Harry to get any closer. He glances toward Harry, who’s still looking at him and not the telly. Much to Nick’s chagrin, the guilt doesn’t subside.

“’S pretty on you, love,” he whispers, looking down at their linked hands. “Sorry, I just… got overwhelmed for a mo.’ You’re, um… I mean, I know it’s early days, and I don’t want to scare you off, but it’s like out of nowhere, everything I could have ever wanted just knocked right into me in a random hallway and it’s kind of overwhelming, I’m still getting used to all this.”

“When Nick met Harry,” Harry replies, his pink lips curling into a small smile. 

Nick guffaws, the sudden, boisterous sound approaching Harry levels of ridiculous, and he laughs until tears form in his eyes. Terrible joke aside, the relief of Harry knowing when to let Nick off the hook and lighten the mood, the understanding in his sparkling green eyes – well, it all does funny things to Nick’s chest. He’s just…  _ happy. _

“How long,” he starts, wiping at his eyes, “have you been waiting to say that?”

“Since you told me I could pick the film,” Harry says, grinning madly. Nick really shouldn’t laugh again, it will only encourage him. 

He laughs anyway.

“Menace, you are,” he replies, linking his fingers through Harry’s in his lap again. “Go on, watch the rest, I know you picked it for more than the joke.”

Harry snuggles back into Nick’s side, looking pleased with himself, and watches the rest of the film while Nick spends the time surreptitiously watching him. Like a creep. 

The credits (finally) start to roll and Harry sits up, clicking off the telly, before turning to Nick with an expectant look on his face.

“What?” Nick asks, making grabby hands for Harry to move back into his space. 

“Did you  _ forget?” _ Harry asks, scandalized. “My  _ surprise, _ Nicholas. You said after the film. It’s after the film.”

“Oh,  _ that,” _ Nick says, playacting that he’d rather forgotten the whole thing. He reaches over and picks the brown bag up off the side table. “Right, then. Here we go. If you still want–”

Harry snatches the bag out of his hands and holds it open, peering inside. A flush blooms across his cheeks as he looks up.

“Did you really–”

“I did really,” Nick confirms. “Went to the shop, met a lovely saleswoman full of advice, and picked ’em out for you. These ones here for beginners, you should have seen this whole wall of options, most of them linked up to collars and things–”

Harry throws himself into Nick’s lap, kissing him wildly, all tongues and scorching heat. Christ, if this is where the mere  _ mention _ of collars gets Nick–

“Can we try them?” Harry asks suddenly. He’s pulled back from the kiss, but just barely, his lips almost brushing against Nick’s even as he speaks. “Tonight? Can we try them?”

“Yes, fuck,” Nick breathes, squeezing his hands around Harry’s waist where they landed during Harry’s sneak attack. “Course we can, love. A little bit of talk really gets you going, yeah?”

“’S your voice,” Harry says, eyes on Nick’s parted lips. “Your voice gets me going and then you have to talk about things like  _ collars, _ fucking hell, Nick–”

“Sh, pet,” Nick murmurs, running his hands up and down Harry’s sides. “You know, you haven’t really gotten to your surprise yet, you still need to open to the box.”

He purses his lips, leaning forward for a kiss, but Harry is already sitting back on Nick’s legs, grabbing the bag from where he’d dropped it on the couch in his haste to mount Nick. He pulls the box out and considers the photo on the front before turning it over and skimming the back. His eyes flicker up to Nick’s as he pulls the tab to open the top of it before looking back down. He reaches in and delicately pulls out the clamps by the silver chain, his eyes widening as he sees the bows.

“Thought you might like something pretty,” Nick says softly, watching him closely. 

Harry looks up, his eyes dark and face serious, and for a split second Nick is dead scared he’s gotten it wrong.

“Can we please fuck now?”

The question, posed in Harry’s deep, gravelly voice with no tone of joking, goes right to Nick’s dick. He nods frantically, pulling Harry in for another filthy kiss that’s mostly tongue. Harry grinds down in Nick’s lap and Nick can feel how hard he is, so hard that it would probably be painful if he were wearing tighter trousers. They part after a minute, staying in each other’s spaces, each watching the other as they pant.

Speaking of panting, Nick can hear some of the canine variety by the doorway. Oh, right. He’d quite forgotten he even had dogs.

“I’ve just got to let them out for a wee,” Nick says regretfully, not wanting to part with Harry for the few minutes the task will take. “Then show them to their beds.”

“I’ll go with you,” Harry replies easily. “Then you can show me to bed.”

Christ, this sexy menace is going to be the death of him.

Harry scrambles off his lap and Nick stands, letting himself be tugged by the hand as Harry walks through the kitchen. The dogs trail dutifully behind him, perhaps for once in their short lives sensing a need for calm, and Nick lets them out in the garden. He watches out for them while Harry mouths at his neck, arms wrapped around him and holding him close. Like there was any chance he’d want to move away.

The dogs come bounding back inside after a few minutes and Nick traipses over to the treats with Harry still wrapped around him. He hands out a treat to each dog and gives Harry a kiss for his turn, which results in a delightful round of giggles.

Harry wrapped around him slows Nick down a bit, but he can still move, just slowly, so he shows the dogs their beds with a stern look, and then turns to lead Harry to the bedroom.

Once inside, he closes the bedroom door behind him. Harry’s face is bathed in the soft light from the lamp by the bed that Nick had the foresight to leave on. Christ, he looks beautiful.

“Christ, you look beautiful,” Nick says softly, lifting a hand to caress Harry’s cheek.

Harry looks up at him through his lashes and, if he’s honest, Nick loses his breath for a moment.

“How do you want me?”

Nick looks to the heavens, remembering the first time Harry posed that question to him, but no help is forthcoming. Quite sure Harry said that purposefully and quite unsure how Harry manages to be equal parts hilarious and hot in all things, Nick gently guides him toward the bed, whispering in his ear, “I want you, naked, on your back, in the middle of the bed. How does that sound, love?”

Harry doesn’t bother answering, he’s already set the nipples clamps carefully down on the bed, bows face up, and is stripping off his clothes. Even frantic as he is for Nick to fuck him, he still lines his shoes up by the bed before laying his clothes on the ottoman in front of it. Nick watches, palming himself through his jeans and wondering when exactly neatness became a turn-on for him. 

“It’s you.” Nick speaks before he’s even realized he meant to.

“What?” Harry asks from where he lies naked and shameless in the middle of Nick’s bed.

“It’s you,” Nick repeats, pulling his jumper off over his head and undoing his flies. “It’s not the fact that you’re neat that’s turning me on, it’s  _ you, _ it’s everything you do.”

Nick has finished undressing and reached the bed by the time he’s finished speaking, dimly aware he’s not making any sense but from the looks of it, Harry couldn’t give a fuck. He watches hungrily, propped up on his elbows, as Nick climbs onto the bed and crawls on top of him. Nick dips his head to kiss Harry, but only for a moment. There’s something he’s been dying to do.

Sitting back on his haunches, Nick lets his eyes roam all over Harry’s bare skin. He’s absolutely littered with fluttering muscles and tattoos, the dark smudges Nick had ogled what feels like a lifetime ago in that broom closet turning out to be laurels, essentially framing Harry’s rather large erection. Nick can’t wait to get his hands on it again. Can’t wait to get his hands all over him, really. 

Harry basks in the attention, his body melting into the sheets, his arms splayed above his head before he reaches a hand up to Nick’s torso, running his fingertips over the skin just below Nick’s pec.

“Pete?” Harry asks hesitantly, looking up from Nick’s tattoo to meet his eyes.

“I’ll tell you later, love,” Nick replies softly, watching as Harry seemingly unconsciously moves his hand to smoothe over a small ‘R’ tattoo on his arm. Nick’s gaze flickers from one tattoo to the next, wondering briefly about the multitude of stories they contain. 

He can practically feel Harry’s eyes on him as he studies Nick’s body, his eyes moving from Nick’s tattoo down to his stomach, his dick, then back up to his chest. Nick would have expected Harry’s intense focus on his naked form to make him feel self-conscious, after all he’s an old man, more thick than thicc these days, but the unmistakable lust all over Harry’s face is doing heady things to Nick’s ego. And his dick.

Nick’s never going to get his fill of just looking at Harry, but right as he’s thinking it’s time he moves things more in the touching direction, Harry lifts one his hands, reaching up to pet at Nick’s chest hair, humming softly when he finds Nick’s nipple and runs his fingertips over it.

“Now, now, pet,” Nick tsks as he catches Harry’s hand in his and looks into his searching eyes, “isn’t that my job?”

Harry’s cock twitches against Nick, leaving a smear of pre-come on his thigh. Nick licks his lips, watching Harry’s eyes follow the movement. Christ, they haven’t even started and this is already the best sex Nick has ever had.

He shifts down to lie between Harry’s open legs, propping himself up over Harry’s chest on his elbows. Looking up to meet Harry’s blown-black eyes, he asks, “Ready, love?”

He lifts his eyebrows when Harry doesn’t reply right away and Harry scrambles to nod. Holding eye contact, Nick lowers his head and sticks his tongue out in a poor imitation of Harry before giving his nipple a kitten lick. Harry immediately arches into the touch, and Nick considers teasing him a bit more, but fuck if he isn’t just as eager. He wraps his lips around the nipple and shifts all his weight to one elbow so he can play with the other with his hand. 

He alternates his mouth and fingers on Harry’s nipples for a few minutes, delighting in the way Harry claws at his hair, thrusting his pelvis against Nick so his wet cock leaves traces on Nick’s skin. He could keep this up for hours, but he did tell Harry they could try the clamps tonight so he forces himself to pull away, sure that he’s done his job of priming Harry for them.

As Nick sits back on his haunches, Harry chases him with his hands, sitting up from where he’d been lying prone on the bed like it’s nothing, like everyone has the core strength of an Adonis. Nick can’t even find it in him to be disgusted, it’s too fucking hot.

“Lie back down, love,” Nick says after leaning forward to give Harry a quick peck. “Just getting these for you.”

Harry looks momentarily confused, like he’d forgotten all about his surprise, and Nick watches as the realization strikes his face and he lets his body fall back to the bed. Nick doesn’t even bother trying to hide the fondness on his own face, that’s how gone he is for Harry, and he reaches over and picks up the clamps from where Harry had set them down near the edge of the bed. 

“Okay,” Nick murmurs, squinting at the screw he can twist to adjust them. “Are you ready, love?”

“’M so ready,” Harry slurs, looking up at Nick with lidded eyes. “Please ’m so ready, been ready for  _ ages, _ please, Nick, please–”

“Alright, love,” Nick shushes him, moving his hand to pinch Harry’s nipple so he can put the first clamp in place. “Alright, tell me how this feels, because we can adjust once it’s on, yeah?”

He has a bit of trouble because Harry’s chest is heaving as he breathes, but finally Nick manages to get the clamp on in accordance with the saleswoman’s instructions. He looks up and, on seeing the blissed-out look on Harry’s face, decides to put the other one before checking in again verbally. The second one goes more quickly than the first, and Nick tweaks the bows to lay just so.

“Now, how’s that feel, love?” Nick asks, checking for any sign of discomfort on Harry’s face. 

“Perfect,” Harry sighs, closing his eyes. “God, this is amazing, Nick, it’s perfect, I feel perfect.”

“You look perfect, too,” Nick says softly. He runs a finger along the cool chain laying on Harry’s chest. “Pretty as a picture. Picture perfect.”

Harry’s eyes fly open. “Will you take one? On your phone?”

“Are you sure?” Nick frowns. “That kind of thing lasts forever, I could get hacked–”

_ “Nick,” _ Harry interrupts. Nick searches his face, but doesn’t find any hesitation there. “’M sure, I wanna see. Please.”

Nick hums in agreement, leaning forward to kiss the wrinkle between Harry’s stubborn brows before moving to get off the bed, his cock bobbing awkwardly between his legs. He quickly retrieves his phone from the pocket of his jeans on the floor where he’d dropped them earlier (too turned on to be as neat as Harry) and rushes to climb back on the bed. 

He unlocks his phone and opens the camera app as he shuffles up over Harry’s body. He holds up his phone and arranges it so just Harry’s torso is in the frame before snapping a few photos. He tilts the screen so Harry can see one and gets a mutinous frown in return for his trouble.

“I want one with my face, Nicholas,” Harry demands, poking at Nick’s thigh with his finger instead of his dick this time. “Do another.”

“Alright, alright,” Nick mutters. This kind of thing makes him wary, he’d rather avoid getting caught by the nation with his pants down, but he has to trust that Harry knows what he’s comfortable with. He snaps a few more photos, and he’s no aspiring professional photographer but he’s pretty pleased with his work as he holds the screen up again for Harry.

“That’s better,” Harry nods ridiculously. “Do you really think I look pretty?”

“Gorgeous,” Nick affirms, fumbling with his phone to set a timer before tossing it aside. He leans in to kiss Harry’s pout and then explains, “Just setting an alarm, don’t want to leave these on too long for our first try.”

“What? No–” Harry starts to protest, looking adorably disgruntled.

“Yes,” Nick interrupts firmly, moving down Harry’s body. “We already spent at least three minutes with your photo shoot and the woman at the shop gave me this whole speech about starting in ten-minute increments, there’s all these reasons, and I just… let me take care of you, pet, yeah? I promise, we’ll use them again, and maybe for longer if you want, after tonight. Alright?”

Harry visibly melts at that, which wasn’t even Nick’s intention. It’s just he doesn’t take this lightly is all.

“Alright,” Harry replies, his voice trembling. His neglected cock twitches against Nick’s chest like the emotion is getting him off as much as the clamps are, and Nick can’t think too hard about that right now or he’ll never get to the business at hand.

“Thank you,” he says sternly. “Now be good for me.”

A gorgeous dark red flush spreads across Harry’s lovely face, and Nick admires him for a moment before finally turning his attention to Harry’s cock. He’s been rock hard for ages, and the tip is dripping, so Nick doesn’t waste any time, tonguing at the bundle of nerves on the underside before taking the head into his mouth. 

There’s a muffled groan above him and he pops off of Harry’s cock for just as long as it takes to say, “Let me hear you, pet,” before swallowing him back down until he feels the tip nudge at the back of his throat. As Harry lets go, gasping and whimpering and moaning, Nick sets a steady pace, taking as much of Harry’s rather enormous cock in his mouth as he can, moving a hand to cover what he can’t wrap his lips around. 

It only takes a couple of minutes for Harry to start thrusting up weakly into Nick’s mouth, his hands clutching at the sheets, and Nick would be surprised at how close Harry is this soon but, if he’s honest, he’s pretty close himself. At least he doesn’t have to be embarrassed since Harry is clearly just as affected as he is.

Nick loosens his lips a little around Harry’s cock, adjusting the bobs of his head to accommodate Harry’s thrusts as he just barely fucks Nick’s mouth. He moves a hand to gently tug at Harry’s balls and Harry’s low moans rip through the room.

“Nick,  _ Nick,” _ Harry gasps, and Nick looks up at him, mouth still full of Harry’s cock. Harry whimpers, choking out, “Can I… ’m so close, please, can I–”

Nick raises his head, letting Harry’s cock slip out of his mouth, to nod, “You can come, come any time you want, love.”

Harry throws his head back, eyes closed, as Nick takes him back in his mouth, so he doesn’t see Nick inch his hand up over his quivering abdominal muscles. Nick gives the chain connecting the clamps a light tug as he suckles the head of Harry’s cock and Harry’s back arches clear off the mattress, his cock pulsing as he comes in Nick’s mouth. 

After a moment, Harry collapses on the bed, completely spent, and Nick swallows before gathering the last of the come from the head of Harry’s softening dick with his thumb. He can see Harry watching him out of the corner of his eye, so he makes a little show of licking up the sticky, just slightly sweet substance, pushing his thumb into his mouth to swirl his tongue over it, getting it completely clean.

He looks up to meet Harry’s eyes, but they’re focused lower, on Nick’s neglected cock. Harry’s chest rises and falls as he catches his breath and he finally lifts his eyes to Nick’s.

“Will you come in my mouth?”

If Nick had had any hope of hiding how that question went straight to his dick, his erection twitching against Harry’s skin destroyed it. He nods, tamping down the urge to ask Harry if he’s sure since he’s the one who  _ asked, _ and moves carefully up Harry’s body, not wanting to dislodge the clamps since their timer hasn’t even gone off yet. 

He perches lightly on Harry’s chest and Harry looks up at him, seemingly perfectly content to lie under him. Taking his cock in his hand, Nick starts to stroke himself, gently at first but quickly giving in to the sensation, suddenly desperate to come now that he’s focused on his own pleasure as opposed to Harry’s.

He’s close, he’s so close, when the timer starts chiming from the corner of the bed. Nick looks at Harry wildly, unsure what to do, and Harry opens his mouth and sticks his pink tongue out. The sight of it tips Nick over the edge and he comes all over Harry’s pert tongue, his slightly puffy lips, even his chin. Nick loses his mind a little at the sight, it’s so fucking hot and Harry looks so pleased and so beautiful. 

He comes back to himself after a moment and scrambles to pick up his phone and silence it. He looks up at Harry, the question in his eyes, and Harry nods so Nick snaps a quick photo of Harry’s flushed, happy, come-covered face, just one, before tossing the phone to the side again. He sits back on his haunches and admires Harry for a moment.

“Now, love,” he murmurs, stroking his hands up Harry’s sides. “This may hurt a bit.”

“Nick,” Harry giggles. “You  _ know _ I like it to hurt a bit.”

“No, seriously,” Nick says sternly. “I don’t want to actually hurt you, so you have tell me if it’s, like… a bad hurt and not a good one, alright?”

“Alright,” Harry whispers, nodding. He blinks slowly up at Nick, but no more so than usual, and Nick thinks he seems alert enough to understand. 

“Alright,” Nick mutters, more to himself. He gently plucks off one clamp, looking up to watch Harry’s face. He winces, and a shudder goes through his chest, but he nods. Nick waits another minute for him to relax back into the sheets before carefully removing the other clamp. 

Nick waits for Harry to ride out the sensation, setting the clamps down beside them on the bed before gently stroking wherever his hands can reach that’s not too close to Harry’s nipples until Harry finally opens his eyes and offers Nick a lazy grin. Bending his head, Nick presses a gentle kiss to the each puffy, dark pink nipple.

When he looks up, Harry’s poking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, trying to lick up the come that’s still on his face, so Nick helps him, gently gathering it with his fingers so Harry can lick it off them. The little minx sucks Nick’s fingers into his mouth and if Nick hadn’t just had one of the best orgasms of his life, he would be well on his way to hard again.

Nick moves to kiss Harry deeply, petting his curls and relishing the taste on their tongues mixing together. He moves to press kisses all over his face, from his dimples to his sharp jaw to his stupidly perfectly shaped eyebrows. Harry giggles and it only spurs Nick on, kissing all over Harry’s forehead down to his ears before gathering him up in his arms and lying back.

“Nick,” Harry says hesitantly, looking up at him, “you know I’m, like, okay, right? Like, better than okay, I’m fucking fantastic, you don’t really need to–”

“But maybe  _ I _ need to,” Nick interrupts, squeezing Harry tight. “Is that alright, pet?” 

“Oh,” Harry breathes. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s alright.”

Nick had read in some of his cursory research, which he now realizes he will have to do rather a lot more of and probably with Harry at his side, that some dominant partners need aftercare just as much as submissive ones and he’s a bit surprised to find that it’s true, at least for him anyway, as Harry lets Nick hold him for as long as he wants.

As long as he wants turns out to be about half an hour, thirty perfect minutes of cuddling Harry close, smelling his hair, smiling against his skin as Harry hums nonsensically. It’s his bladder that convinces him it’s time to burst their little bubble in the end, and they both get up to have a wee and clean up and get ready for bed. Harry uses a spare toothbrush that Nick thinks Alexa left behind, but he decides not to mention that detail. 

That’s what he gets for the gleam in his eyes as he surveys Nick’s collection of products and samples about two thirds of them. Nick clucks a bit at him as he goes through his own nightly skincare routine, but he can’t find it in himself to stay mad when Harry’s so cute, like a kid at the proverbial candy shop. 

“D’you want something to sleep in?” Nick asks as they walk back into the bedroom and he gathers his heap of discarded clothes from the floor.

“Nah,” Harry replies, scratching at his tummy. It’s not cute. It’s  _ not. _ Except it is. “I like being naked, it’s freeing.”

Well, that’s not going to be a problem for Nick, not at all. He pulls on a pair of black briefs and gets into bed, plugging in his phone and rummaging around in his drawer for a spare charger for Harry. Once they’re all situated, he looks over at Harry in his bed, hardly able to believe his luck at the man his woodland sprite turned out to be. 

“Are you sleepy, love?” Nick asks, running a hand though Harry’s curls. “We could watch something if you want.”

“’M knackered,” Harry yawns. “’Bout to fall asleep.”

“Me too,” Nick replies, Harry’s yawn contagious. There’s a tug at his heart as he gears up to say one last thing before their goodnights. “Erm, can you do me a favor?”

Harry nods seriously before Nick even has a chance to ask the favor. Nick can’t bring himself to say it yet, but he might actually love him. 

“I, um… I don’t like waking up alone,” Nick explains, forcing himself to look up at Harry and meet his gaze. “So if you decide to get up in the morning, have a tea or summat, feel free to do that by the way, or if you might… want to leave, can you just wake me up first?”

“You don’t like waking up alone?” Harry asks softly, running his hand soothingly up Nick’s arm.

“No, never have,” Nick admits. “Not, like, when I’ve gone to sleep with someone there.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that,” Harry says, his voice steady. Sure. “Not tomorrow. Not for the foreseeable.” 

And that goes straight to Nick’s heart instead of his dick, unlike some of the other bold things Harry has said to him. It must do something funny to his face, because Harry quirks his head and asks, “What?”

“I think you just gave my heart an erection,” Nick confesses, laying his head against his pillow and watching as Harry starts to giggle and, from the looks of it, can’t seem to stop. Soon it’s as contagious as his yawn, and the pair of them giggle madly together, scooting close to hide their faces in each other’s shoulders.

“Nick,” Harry says, once their giddiness has worn off a bit. “I…”

He bites his lip and looks into Nick’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Nick breathes. “I know it’s soon, but same. Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Harry replies, a slow grin overtaking his almost irritatingly pretty face, especially bright tonight from all the toner and lotion and cream he’d sampled in Nick’s en suite.

“Yeah,” Nick repeats, a bit stupidly. He tears his eyes away long enough to reach and turn off the lamp, because they could stay in an endless loop of “yeah”s for quite a while and they both really are knackered.

Harry has turned his body to face away from Nick, but he reaches blindly behind him until Nick shuffles forward and wraps his arms around his waist. Nick runs his hand up and down Harry’s annoyingly toned stomach and then tentatively moves his hand up to run his fingertips lightly across Harry’s nipple. Harry hisses, but arches into the touch.

“Okay, love?” Nick whispers, a confusing mixture of concerned and slightly aroused.

“Better than,” Harry whispers back, moving his hand to cover Nick’s on his waist. “Fucking fantastic.”

And fuck if that doesn’t go straight to Nick’s heart, too. He presses a kiss to the back of Harry’s neck before burying his face in Harry’s curls.

“Night, love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! Let me know what you thought in the comments :)
> 
> [ fic post](https://silveredsound.tumblr.com/post/179384696810/hold-this-thread-by-disgruntledkittenface-never)!! thank you


End file.
